


They Don't Teach You That in School

by butcherface



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Angst, Art School, M/M, Portland Oregon, Smoking, Teacher-Student Relationship, gay art school things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-10 08:23:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 29,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4384442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butcherface/pseuds/butcherface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Art teacher Geoff Ramsey made a rash decision for himself- moving across the country to Portland, Oregon from Alabama in order to start his life over. He doesn't at all expect to meet Michael Jones, a video game design student at Pacific Northwest Art School. Michael must learn how to deal with the difficult man that is Geoff Ramsey, including all of his flaws that shied him away from his home in Alabama in the first place.</p><p>[epilogue coming soon]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not an experienced writer, and this is the first fic that I am posting online. I hope that you guys will enjoy it, and please leave some insight into what you think! Comments are very much appreciated.

Geoff pulled up into the parking lot of the apartment complex, shifting the large moving truck into park before letting out a sigh.  
“This is it. Home sweet home.” He looked at the large red entryway, examining the absurd amount of glass put in it. There was a minimalist style rounded white sign with the name of the complex in lowercase, thick, red letters. He got out of the car and approached the building. The designers put a ton of flare onto the main entrance, but everything else was rather plain. Beige and window. Beige and window.

Geoff made small talk with the landlord inside before being given his keys. The guy looked about twenty-five, had a very obviously faked tan, and wore a white button up with a white snapback turned backwards. It was probably the landlord’s son, despite him saying he was the actual landlord. Noted: the guy was a real fucking stuck-up douchebag. Geoff decided to grab his most important possession first before even checking his apartment.

He stepped outside again and made his way to the passenger side of the truck. In a few short motions he opened the door and grabbed his sketchbook and some pencils, shutting the door again and hitting the lock button on the key a few times before hearing the satisfying ‘click’ that told him it was locked. Lucky for him, the landlord said his apartment was up on the third floor above the lobby, so he didn’t have to go far.

Geoff made his way back inside and a very difficult search for the stairway began. His idea of the landlord being a douche came back—but amplified now. The young white guy who looked like something out of jersey shore hadn’t told him where exactly the stairs were. Geoff uttered many frustrated swears under his breath, but did eventually find the right door and heaved himself up all three floors.

When he reached the door at the end of the hall with the number that matched the key, he felt his heart race and his chest get a little fluttery. This was really it. The dark wooden door opened smoothly and Geoff was almost shocked at the sight before him.

“Holy dicks. This is the nicest studio apartment I’ve ever seen,” he whispered to nobody in particular. Not even himself, really. He took a step inside and closed the door, keys jangling in his hand. The main room itself was very large, with an open kitchen inside a small nook in the wall. The floor was a light hardwood, obviously recently re-waxed. A very large window was all the way in the back across from the entrance, once again in a nook in the wall, just large enough for a bed. The walls were a crisp white with bookshelves already built into them. The kitchen had sharp black accents to go with the white tile and counters. 

He set his sketchbook and pencils down on the kitchen counter and took another look at the apartment. Next to the kitchen was a sliding door that had to be the closet, and right across from there was a dark wooden door that must have led to the bathroom. Geoff took a deep breath and shook his head, a huge grin appearing on his face. This was it, he was starting over here. He was going to become an art teacher and finally settle a bit. He glanced at his sketchbook before walking out to get started on carrying the rest of his things up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although short, this chapter is just an insight into something that will be much bigger. I promise that the events get bigger, the chapters get longer, and the angst gets unbearable. Please tell me what you guys think!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aiming for weekly uploads, maybe even multiple uploads a week.

Tick.

Tap.

Tick.

Tap.

Michael almost wanted to groan in agony at how slow the lecture was going. He could only hope it was nearing the end.

He didn’t give any kind of flying fuck about Pluto. Why did his math professor care so much? That was something he just... didn’t know. Burnie kept on going. Michael was so bored he couldn’t even take notes on the damn speech.

“Planets? Traveling far. Lot of miles. Science stuff???” is what was scrawled in his notebook, joined by various doodles of planets and stars. He switched between chewing on his pen and tapping it with the seconds on the clock, slouched over his desk.

This was awful.

He only had this class twice a week, but it got more boring every time. Michael just wanted to go get breakfast at, well, anywhere. The lecture started at 6 a.m. Way too damn early for this.

Burnie clicked to a black slide that said “End of slideshow” in small white letters at the top of the screen. Michael felt a surge of joy unlike any other. Was it over? Was this godforsaken lecture over?

“That concludes today's lecture. You guys can leave now--sorry for taking up so much of your time. This is a huge scientific discovery!” The whole room gave a grunt in reply. The teacher was always so strangely happy about things like this, even in the morning. A synced sound of notebooks closing and bags being packed took place. Everybody was in a rush to get out of there.

Michael slung his messenger bag over his shoulder and started making his way to the front of the room. He heard Lindsay and Barbara discussing something about a new teacher right in front of him.

“What are you ladies up to?” he implored, slinging an arm over Lindsay. She rolled her eyes at him.

“Did you hear about the new professor they hired? He works in the art field. He’s the talk of the town. Apparently he looks like something out of a cartoon,” Barbara chimed, not answering the question but telling Michael what he wanted to hear.

“Yeah!” Lindsay said. “It’s so strange that he’s such a hot topic--it’s like having a new teacher in high school all over again!”

“I think he’s my new studio art professor.” Barbara seemed way too excited about that. Michael was kind of disappointed that he didn’t take any actual drawing classes. He probably wouldn’t ever get to meet the guy.

“Thanks for keeping me up with the gossip, guys, but I’m gonna split. I’m fucking starving.” He finally managed to dash out of the room before they could say anything else to him. He’d catch up with Lindsay later. Barb, however, just didn’t know when to stop talking.

The main crowd of students was already halfway to the main campus, and as Michael went to turn to follow them, a very odd looking man caught his eye. He was clearly in a rush, and looked absolutely fucking terrified. His shirt was buttoned wrong, sleeves half assed rolled up to his elbows. His exposed arms showed off sleeves of tattoos. In one arm he had a stack of what looked to be sketchbooks and textbooks, and the opposing hand was holding a rather large thermos. His hair was ridiculous, dark and sticking out in every possible direction. He had a comical mustache with a splotch of… is that paint?

Green paint. In his mustache.

He was wearing dark jeans that looked to barely even fit him.

He was walking at a very hurried pace, probably trying to find a classroom of some sort. When he got closer, Michael noticed that he had several paint brushes simply in his shirt pocket. And that the shirt had several faded stains. If Michael could judge anything based on this guy’s appearance, those were definitely paint stains.

Michael had a thought: could this be the new art professor? He looked awfully young to be a professor. However, Michael could tell what the girls had meant by the fact that he looked very… out of place. In a place like Portland, anyway.

\---

Geoff could not believe himself.

It was his first day and he couldn’t fucking find his classroom. Nobody had showed him around. It was way too early for this. He was an absolute mess. He didn’t have time to shower or comb his hair down. His shirt was probably all fucked up--he had grabbed the first one out of a box that he could find. He was so damn lost.

He saw a large crowd of students flow out of a room, a wave of kids with bright hair and weird clothing. He snorted a little to himself at that. Art school. Maybe they would lead him to the main campus again, Geoff thought to himself. His first impulse was to follow them, but he knew that if they came out of a classroom it meant that there might be a professor inside that could help him.

Geoff slid through the wall of students, making his way into the large classroom. The teacher had neat brown hair with his back to Geoff, writing something on the board. Geoff cleared his throat and the man turned around.

“Holy fucking shit. Geoff Ramsey?” the man exclaimed, shock appearing on his face. Geoff himself was pretty shocked this guy knew him. The stranger pushed up his glasses and motioned for Geoff to get closer. “It’s me! Burnie! From college! Remember?” Geoff was suddenly hit with the memory, his old college roommate. He looked very different with the glasses and facial hair that he lacked back then. He switched from worn out t-shirts to a whole professional teacher-like attire. It was definitely nothing like the Burnie from back then.

“No fucking way. I didn’t recognize you--it must be the facial hair. Sorry about that.” Geoff laughed and gave his old friend a one-armed hug, the massive amount of books preventing him from doing anything else.

“How you been? Never expected to see you here, of all places. The fuck are you doing here?” Burnie invited Geoff to sit down in one of the front desks, but Geoff declined reluctantly.

“I’ll explain all that stuff later. Listen, do you know where the offices or art rooms are? I’m the new guy. And I am so fucking lost.”

“That’s you? Really? Holy shit. Just, holy shit.” Burnie walked to the door and waved a hand. “Follow me. It’s a little ways away. You can explain yourself on the way.”

Geoff nodded and began to follow him, explaining how he moved all the way from fucking Alabama a few weeks ago. Burnie himself had gone to the same school in Montgomery, but he moved back to the north right after graduation. Geoff had been teaching down south for five or so years before making the decision that he wanted to go north.

“Gotta say though, this place is cold as shit. It’s the end of summer and I can’t feel my damn toes at night.” Burnie barked out a laugh at that.

“You adjust after a little while. I’ve got a student from Jersey that thinks it’s too damn cold here. Jersey!” Geoff appreciated the man’s attempt at comfort. “It’s beautiful up here though. Mountains and not humid ass air.”

Although they had been roommates, they had shared no classes together due to their different majors. Burnie obtained a math degree and now he taught one of the core classes at Pacific Northwest. Geoff specified in still life and nature drawing, but his degree allowed him to teach anything from studio art to abstract shit.

They reached the art wing and Burnie pointed down the main hall.

“Rumor is the new guy is in the first room on the left. Probably got a class waiting for you.” They exchanged phone numbers, made plans to hang out sometime, and then Geoff made a speedy walk for the room.

It was definitely more of a studio, though. There were easels and canvases stacked everywhere, and eager students sitting on stools at the wooden tables. Geoff made his way to the small desk off to the side and set down his load of books and his thermos. The young adults stared at him in both shock and eagerness, and he could feel a small bead of sweat on his forehead. He was late. Really late.

“Uh, hi. I’m Professor Ramsey. Since I’m new here, let’s figure out what you guys know. Sketch a mountain or something. Give it your best shot. I need to know where you guys are at.”

And that’s when Geoff realized that he made the best decision coming to teach here, as all the kids rushed to open their sketchbooks to a new page and get to work. He sat down on the stool at his new desk and watched them scribble with concentrated looks on their faces. He brought a hand to his face to twirl his mustache, and felt his face heat up very quickly with an embarrassed blush.

There was paint in his fucking facial hair. And nobody had said anything to him about it at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And a HUUUGGEEE thank you to my editor, the incredible [mightbeanasshole](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mightbeanasshole/profile) for helping me with this work. They are amazing!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday. I'm old. Enjoy.  
> Bit of a longer chapter.

Michael fiddled with the lock on the window. He couldn’t believe he was actually doing this.

Apparently a bunch of the upperclassmen at Pacific put freshmen through rituals, or rites of passage. Gavin and Ray had convinced him to go through with the ridiculous task—stealing the stapler from the new teacher. A random item that would provide proof he managed to do it. His friends were way too easy to succumb to peer pressure; but then again, neither of them had to do something so ridiculous as _breaking into a college_.

He heard a satisfying click and smirked. He shrugged a bit to make sure his bookbag wasn’t falling off his shoulders. Michael quickly pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the time. 11 p.m.. Hopefully, he wouldn’t get caught. Hopefully.

\--

Geoff nodded along to The Clash blaring through his headphones. He adjusted the small lamp’s angle over the part of the canvas he was sketching on. Long, elegant strokes were forming a mountain in front of him. Of course, Geoff was the only person in the god damned world that would sit by himself and draw in the dark. In his studio. On a Thursday night.

Whenever he was unable to sleep--which was most nights--Geoff drew. It kept him calm. It kept his hands busy. It allowed him to concentrate his frustrations. He’d head home eventually- he always did. For the time being, Geoff would stay. Inspiration caught him at strange hours.

“If you don’t want me, set me free,” he sang along, the lyrics seemingly fueling every fiber of his being. “Exactly whom I’m supposed to be.” He tapped his foot along to the beat, stopping every few seconds to do a small air drumming session.

Geoff knew he wasn’t a good singer--but that didn’t ever stop him.

\--

Michael grabbed the top of the windowsill and heaved himself inside feet first. The studio was dark except for a small light coming from one of the corners. He assumed that was left on for the cleaning crew. This, of course, blocked his view of the stool _sitting right in front of the fucking window_. He managed to hit it as he was mostly inside, causing him to not-so-gracefully tumble to the floor, knocking over the stool and landing on his stomach halfway on top of it. His glasses fell off and all of his shit fell right out of his bag.

“Of fucking course,” he thought to himself, “I forgot to zip the damn thing.”

\--

As the song ended, there was a loud crash right behind Geoff. He ripped his headphones out and turned his small lamp towards the origin of the sound. The sight in front of him was ridiculous--to put it in words.

A young man was sprawled out across the floor, arms spread in front of him and legs draped over a knocked-over stool.

“What--what in dicks are you doing? And who are you?” Geoff stood up, setting down his pencil and draping his headphones over his neck. His phone was securely in his pocket before he approached the kid.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.” Michael thought, closing his eyes tightly. Of course this guy was here. He was a fucking weirdo, Michael could tell that from the first time he saw him. Working alone in the dark after hours.

Geoff stood in front of the kid’s face, waiting for him to look up. He glared down, noticing the backpack sitting high on the kid’s back, the mess of curly brown hair, and the amount of shit that surrounded him.

“An explanation. Now. Before I call the goddamn security on you, kid,” Geoff growled, crossing his arms and waiting.

Michael opened his eyes and was met with the sight of worn down tennis shoes. He slowly looked up, the man a seriously blurry mess. Michael needed his damn glasses. He looked back at the floor and saw them close by, fumbling to grab them and put them on. He sat up, heaving his legs off of the stool. He looked up at Geoff, suddenly realizing his chest felt very cold… and wet.

Paint. Michael landed in a concentrated area of open paint bottles, probably left by students.

“Holy shit. You break into my studio AND land in all my fucking paint? Who the hell do you think you are?” Geoff coughed out a laugh. This stranger’s chest was totally covered in a mix of primary colors. “Seriously, please explain yourself. I’m still tempted to call the night guards. You just look way too clumsy to actually cause any harm.” The kid shot him a glare at that one.

“I’m Michael Jones. Can you turn on a light in this damn place? I’ll explain everything, I swear, just,” he sighed. “Please don’t call security.”

Geoff squinted suspiciously, but walked across the studio and flipped on a few switches. The whole room slowly lit as the rows of lights turned on. He went back to Michael and helped him stand up.

“I have an assload of questions for you, kid. Go sit down over there or something.” Geoff snapped. After Michael took his bag off, he went over to a wooden table and set it down. He sat himself on a stool and watched the teacher pick up the stool and squeezed paint bottles.

“Thing is, you probably won’t believe me when I tell you why I just broke in. Security in this place obviously sucks though. I’m gonna blame my success on that.” Michael laughed, looking up at the ceiling. Geoff had begun picking up Michael’s pens, and came across a sketchbook that fell on the floor. He leaned over and picked it up.

“Try me,” Geoff muttered, engrossed in flipping through the drawings. This must belong to Michael. The kid’s bag was unzipped and his stuff got everywhere. They were mainly drawings of intricate characters, with names and statistic bars next to them. It was nothing like Geoff had seen from any of his students. The creatures seemed so lively--ready to spring out of the page at any time. One that really caught his eye was a drawing of a well-muscled man wearing a bear pelt. ‘Mogar’ was scrawled next to it.

“Well, I’m a freshman. I just moved here from New Jersey, so a bunch of older guys decided to put me and my friends through wonderful rites of passage or whatever. It’s a load of bullshit, but my roommates turned against me and forced me to go through it with them. Of course I got the most ridiculous task,” he sighed, closing his eyes and facing his head down. “I had to break into the new teacher’s room and steal something as proof.”

“Uh-huh. Hey, is this yours?” Geoff was so distracted by the book that he had seemingly forgotten the entire incident. Michael looked over the man from head to toe, taking in his appearance. Geoff was wearing a much cleaner shirt than he was the first time Michael saw him-- this time buttoned properly. His shirt was untucked over dark, loose jeans.  “Are you a student here? Wait, you just told me you are. Never mind. What’s your major? These characters are cool as fuck.” He was slowly approaching the table that the younger guy was sitting at. The kid was now staring at him curiously.

Michael watched as Geoff sat down across from him and slid the pencils and sketchbook across the table. Geoff’s hair was a mess, but his moustache was perfectly styled. The sketchbook was open to the page of the Mogar character. Michael looked down at it, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah--this stuffs mine. It fell out of my bag. I do video game design. This was just a character for my friend’s animation, though.” Michael was pretty embarrassed, blushing at the praise.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” Geoff said. “Nobody will know about this whole breaking and entering thing--you’re just a kid. I’ll forgive you. But you have to show me what you can do.”

Geoff pointed a finger at the sketchbook.

“Show me what you can draw.”

“Wh- what?” Michael was really confused. This guy was completely outlandish.

“My name is Geoff Ramsey, Professor Ramsey--whatever you wanna call me. Geoff is fine, since you’re not a student of mine, correct?” Michael nodded. “I’m an art professor here and I want to see what you can do. Paintings, figures, landscapes, all of that shit.”

“You want me to be one of your students?”

“Essentially--yeah, I do. Except you’ll have to come after hours, when I don’t have something going on for sure. It sounds really fucking weird, but god damn kid,” Geoff brought a hand to his forehead and gave a closed-eye smile. “You’ve got something good.”

Michael was in shock. He just broke into this guy’s studio and he was willing to forgive it if he could give Michael… free art lessons? Who was this guy?

“Uh--I mean, sure, I guess.” The paint was starting to dry and crack on his shirt and it was very uncomfortable. “Just... one thing Geoff.”

“What is it?”

“Can I borrow your stapler?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, all the thanks and love goes to my editor: [mightbeanasshole](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mightbeanasshole/profile)
> 
> I wanted to get this uploaded today, so hooray!


	4. Chapter 4

Michael had no classes on Friday--nothing but time to try to figure out exactly how the events on Thursday night ended up taking place. He listed them off in his head. It was only two weeks since the semester started and he had:

1\.  Broke into a college.

2\.  Fell in paint.

3\.  Got caught by a professor who, for some reason, was at the school drawing late at night,.

4\.  Didn’t get security called on him.

5\.  Magically ended up with art lessons.

6\.  Still retrieved a stapler—a pink one.

Michael was laying on his back on the couch, rethinking the turn of events. He thought about how tired the teacher’s eyes had been—like he hadn’t slept in days. They were bright blue. Geoff Ramsey was wearing a stained shirt, and his hair was ridiculously unkempt. Michael had been given Geoff’s email so they could keep in touch and arrange meeting times.

When he told his friends about last night, they laughed at him. They had no choice but to believe him, though, because he HAD brought the stapler back, along with a small card that had an email address written on it. Professor Ramsey requested their first meeting to be tonight.

Michael rubbed his face with his hands and sighed.

His mind jumped through the thoughts.

This was the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to him.

\--

Geoff strolled into his studio, students already waiting for him. He had been working here for two weeks, and hadn’t shown up on time once. His morning classes were starting to get used to it.

He set his thermos of coffee down on the desk and began to remove several large, rolled up posters from his bag. He laid them out neatly on his desk and began speaking without looking up.

“You’ve all heard of Vincent Van Goh, Monet, all those famous guys. I’m sure of it. You’re art students, after all.” Geoff selected a poster and went to stand in front of his small desk, facing everybody now. “However, there’s tons of other artists that need more recognition. Don’t get me wrong—I love those guys. They’re fantastic and helped shape modern art.” The students had very confused looks on their faces, but seemed to be paying close attention.

Geoff unrolled the poster and held it out for them to see. It was a painting featuring a woman in 1800’s men’s clothing, with her hair pulled tightly back. She was playing the piano, a very blank look on her face. The walls behind her were a dirty beige, almost yellow.

“This piece is called Renata Borgatti, Au Piano. The artist I want to introduce you to today was named Romaine Brooks.”

He rolled the poster back up and set it apart from the rest, grabbing another one and unrolling it. It featured a woman with dirty blonde hair, wrapped in a fur coat. She had pale skin in strong contrast to the gray background. Next to her was a cat made with simple gray hues.

“This one is called La Baronne Emile D’Erlanger. It’s a portrait of Brooks’ partner of over 50 years.” Geoff rolled the poster back up and set it aside with the other one. “Brooks’ was a unique artist with a troubled life until her later years. Her earlier works show lots of color- but her later pieces are purely grayscale. The reasoning being that she had secluded herself to work on art for many years, and discovered she hated the way color looked in her style.”

Geoff walked back around his desk and grabbed pins out of a drawer. He started hanging the posters on the blank wall behind his desk.

“She was born in Italy but spent most of her life traveling. Brooks and Emile lived together in a house they built themselves, in an open relationship. A polyamorous lesbian relationship. Brooks enjoyed a lot of solitude, so the cottage was designed to have two separate wings for each of the women and met in the middle in a large dining room.” Geoff spoke as he hung the posters, working the bronze tacks into the wall.

“Brooks is one of my favorite artists, personally. She also managed to spend a lot of time taking care of her family, her mother passed from late stage diabetes, and her brother was severely mentally ill. She had gone through art school broke, like many art students still do.” That earned him a snicker from his audience.

“I want you to draw inspiration from these prints. Come up and look at them whenever you need. Romaine Brooks was truly an incredible expressionist, and definitely influenced a lot of work today. She enjoyed painting and drawing women in men’s clothing--it was some kind of social statement. We’re going to have a model next week, and these prints will stay up for the rest of the year. Draw inspiration from her bold, dark colors. Think about the things she’s saying.”

After his speech, Geoff sat down and watched his students flock to the prints. He unscrewed his thermos and took a long sip of it. He leaned back and smiled, proud of himself for getting these kids interested in art history.

\---

As the classes throughout the day drug out, Geoff thought about Michael and the fact that he would be seeing the student again.

He thought about the lively drawings of fighters and video game maps that scattered the young man’s sketchbook.

He thought about the boy’s tightly curled hair that fell in front of his face. He had one large tattoo on his forearm, and always seemed to be wearing old t-shirts. Michael’s face still had some baby fat on his cheeks—but it was adorable. Adorable, Geoff thought. He didn’t want to apply that word to any human on the face of the earth, finding it more suited for puppies and kittens and whatnot--but Michael was pretty damn cute.

Geoff made a small snicker, taking another sip from his thermos. Geoff thought very affectionately of Michael, the idea of being the boy’s tutor warmed his heart. He thought about being able to teach the student new things as he did with his classes throughout the day. He thought about showing the kid new artists from the 20th century, artists he had never seen before. A thought kept appearing, but it took until almost three or four in the afternoon before it actually settled in.

Should he have taken Michael under his wing? What if the kid hated him? What if he got too attached, too quick?

Michael wasn’t a friend--he was a student. A kid who was probably a decade younger than him, a kid who didn’t look like he was even 18.

Geoff started to feel the self-hate bloom inside his head again, and it’s times like this he wish he could just have a drink.

\--

By the time ten o’clock rolled around, Michael still wasn’t mentally prepared to have his first lesson. Every crazy and bad scenario had already run through his mind. He grabbed his wallet, keys, bag, and phone before bidding a farewell to his roommates one by one. Ray, Gavin, and Meg all seemed pretty uninterested in his departure. Ray wished him good luck with the teacher, jokingly making a jerking off motion and winking at Michael. He took a deep breath and started walking to the trolley station that would take him back to the school.

Michael gave a polite greeting to the driver with a smile. He sat down on the ride, and put in his headphones. Strangers didn’t bother sitting next to him, simply walking past and looking for an unoccupied spot. Geoff said he’d be waiting by the main entrance for Michael in order to let him in.

He didn’t know why this was making him so nervous.

It was just a tutoring session, Michael thought. That’s all it was.

He thought that over and over again on the slow journey.

       --

Geoff waited outside the main entrance early, just in case Michael showed up before their scheduled time.

He checked his phone for the time. It was 10:45, so he had some time to kill. Geoff leaned against the brick walls and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. Nobody was around to see him, so nobody had to know. He lit up one of the Marlboro 100s and waited for his student to arrive.

Geoff desperately hoped a night security guard wouldn’t see him and give him some kind of punishment for smoking on school grounds.

       --

Michael approached the building around 10:50, having to walk around the side to get to the entrance. Geoff was propped up near the door, a dimly lit cigarette in one hand and the light of his phone illuminating his face.

“Didn’t know you smoked. Isn’t that like, illegal?” Michael said as he walked closer. He must have really scared Geoff, because he dropped his almost-burnt-out cigarette and jumped.

“Hooooly shit. Scared the fuck out of me dude. A simple hello would have worked. Also, shh. Nobody has to know. Keep that between us.” The older man stomped on the butt, turning to Michael. “Anyways, let’s just forget that. Come on. We have art to talk about.”

Michael followed Geoff inside, watching him open the door and lead Michael down the halls. They walked in silence except for the jingling of Geoff’s keys. He kept them on a lanyard that was tied around his belt loop. A few other students were rushing around, probably coming from the library to get last minute work done. The college kept resources open until later.

First room on the left of the studio wing, Geoff opened the door and gestured for Michael to go inside. As he walked in, the first thing the student noticed was the fact that the room was completely lit now. There were also posters covering a wall that Michael hadn’t seen before. He set his bag down and walked over to them.

“Who painted these? I’ve never seen them before. Are they just for your class?” Michael questioned, eagerly walking up and down the wall, examining the paintings. When he turned back to Geoff, the man had a goofy smile.

“I’m very glad you asked. I was going to tell you about those. An artist from the late 1800’s to mid-1900’s painted those. Her name was Romaine Brooks. Take a seat.” Geoff pointed to the stool sitting in front of a small wooden desk that had a rolling chair on the other side. Black and white copies of the posters were placed all over it, along with a tan-toned sketchbook that was open to a charcoal drawing of an empty street and a lit street lamp.

Michael sat down and pulled his bag off. He set it at his feet and watched Geoff take the seat in front of him. The man had undone the buttons on his dress shirt, exposing a black cotton tee with a large white paint stain on the chest. His hair was combed slightly neater, but his mustache was frizzy and untouched. It was one or the other, Michael guessed. Geoff’s button up was a dark gray, made of a rougher material than a dress shirt. His jeans were lighter today, and much more noticeably worn than the darker pair he saw yesterday.

Geoff’s eyes looked even more tired than before, heavy lidded and purple. The blue of his iris still showed through, especially bright under the florescent lighting. The man was attractive—in his own way, though. He wasn’t supermodel grotesquely muscled attractive. He was a man who obviously invested a lot of time into his work. There was something about the disheveled artist’s appearance, but Michael couldn’t put his finger on it.

Michael watched as Geoff started to talk, his eyes sparkling with interest in the subject of this artist.

“She hated people and hated color. She isolated herself for her work—and I’m pretty sure one man referred to her stuff as the ‘dyke collection’ or something, but don’t quote me on that.” Geoff let out a laugh, leaning back in his chair. “Look at her pieces—women in men’s clothing. That was super scandalous back then. Like, that was a huge deal. The one with the lady and the cat, that was her partner. They were together for over 50 years.”

“She was a lesbian?” Michael interrupted, rather interested, the pieces were extremely unlike other old art he had viewed in his art history class.

“Yes! And that is exactly why you’ve probably never heard of her. She was a polyamorous lesbian. They will not teach you about that in school.” Geoff sat up, excitedly moving his hands as he spoke. “She had a mentally ill brother that she took care of, and a sick mom. She was a broke art student and many frowned upon her for her sexuality and cross-dressing. Queer-ness was not at all okay back then.”

“She’s relatable, then,” Michael pondered. “For your students? She’s unique. She avoided gender roles and was a struggling gay person in her youth.”

“I think she ended up marrying a man when she was older, but I’m not sure. You have the general idea though. A lot of art kids just so happen to be gay,” Geoff shrugged at the statement. “Gay artists can find a certain kind of escape in their work. Being something in a society that demands you can’t be that is a real struggle.”

Michael swallowed hard. Was Geoff implying something? No; of course not. They were just talking about art.  

“I can imagine there’s plenty of people who would like to know about her,” Michael stated, letting his eyes wander away from the teacher and to the prints. Geoff turned slightly in his chair and stared at them too.

“Yes. I wish I knew about her when I was younger, but I grew up down south. They really don’t like that down there.” Geoff huffed out a laugh. The statement sparked Michael’s interest further, wanting to get to know more about the teacher.

“You grew up down south? Do you mind me asking where?” He hoped he wasn’t out of place in asking.

“Alabama. Fucking Alabama. Hot as dicks, racist as dicks, queerphobic as dicks.” The phrase ‘as dicks’ seemed to be a common thing with the teacher.

“Oh—I mean, are you, uh—never mind, that’s not my place to ask.” Michael stuttered, immediately regretting ever speaking as he met eyes with Geoff again, who had a raised eyebrow.

“Am I gay? No. I’m bisexual. Had a wife. Not anymore. Is that what you’re asking? I can’t really tell. You can ask me stuff, Michael. It’s better that we get to know each other at least a little bit. Can I ask about you?” Michael was thrown off by the short statements, but sat up straighter and let himself stop worrying so much.

“I—uh, I don’t really know. I’ve fooled around with people of like, all of the genders. You know? Um, it’s kinda complicated. I just like who I like, really. I didn’t want the conversation to stray from uh, art, if you weren’t okay with that.” Geoff smiled at Michael as he struggled to get the words out.

“You said you’re from Jersey. Did your whole family move out here?” Geoff decided to steer the questions away from anything sexuality or romantic, since that seemed to make the boy so nervous. Michael’s face flooded with relief.

“Just me. I came out here for college. I live with my friends—Gavin and Ray. I think Gavin is your student, Gavin Free. Nose the size of Australia? He’s super weird.” Geoff grinned, the memory of a student with an exceptionally large nose came to him.

“I know him. He strikes up a lot of… interesting conversations with me. Once he asked me this question about a snail. It was weird.” Michael immediately doubled over in laughter.

“Oh god—oh god, the fucking snail question. It follows you everywhere?”

“Yes, that’s the one. Fucking ridiculous, man.” They were both laughing now, positive energy flowing between them. “Is that the guy that sent you to steal my stapler?”

“Yes, yes, that’s the guy.” Michael wiped one tear from his eye and took a deep breath. “Well, he’s one of them. We all had these weird things to do in order to kind of,” Michael thought on the next word. “Initiate? Our residence here.”

“Never thought that was a real thing. Art kids are fucking crazy. Or maybe it’s just college kids in general?” Geoff laughed again. “Anyways, art—why you came here. Take out your sketchbook. New page.” He said seriously, clearing his throat.

Michael obeyed the sudden order, and turned to a blank page.

“Alright, so, I looked through that book a little bit. I saw a ton of characters, but also some map designs. You said you do video game design right?” Michael gave a curt nod. “Alright--well, If you’re gonna do video games, you have to do the close up things too, right?” Another nod. “Take inspiration from Brooks. Her characters are the main focus but she also includes a background to fit the subject.”

Michael returned his focus to the paintings, a very odd one in particular. A woman was half naked, a goat next to her, standing gracefully in front of mountains.

“Like that?” He pointed to it.

“Exactly like that. I like your characters. They’re lively. But they need backgrounds to solidify their personality.” Geoff turned to his own sketchbook and flipped to a page with a man fishing on a lake. “The man is my subject. He is the character. But he’s also surrounded by a hobby, right? A separate world that is entirely his.”

“Yeah! Yeah, he’s fishing. And he’s on a lake. I also see houses back there.” Michael leaned over the drawing, becoming more and more interested in the detail.

“The man is vague, but it’s obvious he likes the view. He’s sitting on the lake, staring off into the hills.” Michael looked up at Geoff as the piece was explained to him.

“Your work--these sketches, they’re so… real. Does that make sense? I can feel this environment as if it is a real place.” Michael lowered himself back into his seat.

“That’s because it is. It’s a lake just south of downtown. A lot of people live on the lake, there’s tall houses built into the hills. It’s a good place to go and get ideas, letting the nature tell you what to draw. I suggest going there for inspiration,”Geoff said. Michael nodded at him.

“So—Mogar, he’s a bear man. I should give him a forest tone?”

“Yes! You’re getting a good idea.”

Geoff and Michael continued to talk like that, keeping all conversations focused on art. It felt like they were talking forever. Michael was told stories about places the teacher had traveled and drawn, being shown different sketches of multiple landscapes and subjects. Geoff explained different kind of environments and how they could assist characters and their stories.

Michael felt like he learned a ridiculous amount about his teacher without straying back to the personal side again. Geoff had a particular way of expressing himself, a different way of getting himself through art blocks. Michael learned how the man got himself inspired when nothing else worked.

“Honestly,” Geoff said, “When I can’t travel and I really need an idea, I just sit outside on the sidewalk. Usually late at night. I’ll smoke a cigarette and have some kind of alcohol with me, and just draw from the light of the street lamps. The air itself helps me clear my head.”

Michael was guessing that the man didn’t sleep much. Most of his adventures seemed to take place at night. It felt like it was getting rather late, so Michael checked the time on his phone.

“Shit. Shit.” He interrupted Geoff and apologetically looked up at him. “It’s like, one thirty in the morning. I should head home.”

“Fuck--really? I need to get back too.”

Neither man had realized how engrossed they had become in talking. They shook hands and gathered their things, agreeing to meet on Monday. Geoff suggested trading phone numbers rather than email to have quicker communication. They walked out of the school together, and suddenly Michael realized something.

“The trolley stopped running an hour and a half ago. Fuck.” Geoff looked at him in surprise.

“You don’t drive?”

“I’m a broke college student sharing an apartment with two other people. My car like, just fucking broke around a year ago.” Michael immediately became defensive on the subject

“Okay, yeah, I hear you,” Geoff decided to stay away from that point. “Uh, I can give you a lift? If that’s not weird? I guess?” Geoff felt a rush of nervousness in his chest. He felt comfortable around Michael, but they had only just met. It was probably strange to be given a ride from a teacher.

Michael felt his heart race. He didn’t want to burden the guy, but he also didn’t want to walk home and part ways with the teacher so soon. He felt closer to Geoff, like they had known each other for at least six or so months. It was weird—clicking so naturally with somebody. Geoff was a teacher, and probably didn’t want it to get uncomfortable. That thought entered Michael’s mind.

“I don’t want to make you go out of your way—“ Geoff waved a hand to silence Michael.

“Where do you live?”

“Over in uh, Hazelwood.”

“That’s not out of the way. At all.” Michael felt relief at the statement, but was struck once again with anxiety that Geoff was making up a white lie so he could take Michael home instead of leaving him to hike home.

“It beats walking.” Michael smiled, giving out a nervous laugh. A shiver ran through his body at the night’s chill, and he could see Geoff noticeably shiver too.

“Well, let’s hurry to my damn car, it’s cold as dicks. Way too cold for fucking September.” Michael gave him an agreeing nod, following him into the parking lot.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a big huge thank you to [mightbeanasshole](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mightbeanasshole/profile) for being an awesome editor! 
> 
> Also, Romaine Brooks is awesome. I encourage everybody to look into her. See the pieces featured in this chapter [here](http://americanart.si.edu/collections/search/artwork/?id=2871), [here](http://americanart.si.edu/collections/search/artwork/?id=2884), and [here!](http://americanart.si.edu/collections/search/artwork/?id=2875)


	5. Chapter 5

The drive home on Friday had been quiet. The only talking done had been Michael giving directions to his apartment complex. Geoff hadn’t learned anything else about the boy, despite wanting to pound him with questions.

Now it was Saturday morning. Geoff rolled over and grunted. He managed to get two hours of rest. It was six a. m. and his eyes hurt from sleep loss. Two hours was better than nothing at all, he thought to himself. Just need to suck it up and get on with the day.

 

Geoff managed to heave himself out of bed and get started with his morning routine. He went to the bathroom first, emptying his bladder and brushing his teeth. He stared at himself in the mirror, completely unsure about what to do with his appearance. Geoff’s hair and mustache were both frizzy and sticking out in directions that defied gravity. He decided that could definitely wait till later and padded to the kitchen to get the coffee started and think about something to entertain himself.

Geoff thought about the drawing that Michael had taken the most interest in, the man on the lake. On such a small canvas, it was hard to highlight the smaller details. That thought gave Geoff an idea. He tapped his fingers on the counter impatiently, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. As soon as it beeped, he hastily poured some into a mug and made his way across the apartment.

The easel was already set up in the corner next to the window, with blank canvas stacked near it. Geoff examined his array of paints across the windowsill, taking a swig of his coffee. He grabbed a medium-sized canvas and set it up, adjusting the screws on the easel to fit it properly. Geoff set his mug on the windowsill and set out to find the right paint brushes from his collection.

Next, he picked out a cassette to blare while he was working. The soundtrack from Rent seemed to be the best choice. It took some searching to find his cassette player, but once he did he hooked it up and rewinded the soundtrack. Geoff turned the volume up and got himself situated on the art stool in front of his easel, ready to start.

“ _Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes_ ,” The voices echoed through his almost empty apartment.

Geoff grabbed a charcoal pencil and drew rough, scratchy lines. They were slowly evolving to form a dock, then a lake.

“ _In truth that she learned, or in times that he cried_ ,” Geoff paused towards the end of the song to softly sing along to the verse. “ _In bridges he burned, or the way that she died_.”

In the few seconds of silence before the next track, Geoff smeared dark blue over majority of the sketch before adding in clumps of white. As he started to blend the colors to create the shine off of the water, the drums from the next song began. Geoff smiled big and tapped his feet along, the guitars entering the beat in an aggressive manner.

“ _How do you document real life? When real life is getting more like fiction each day_ ,” Geoff sang along loudly, throwing a light brown onto the dock. “ _How do you write a song when the chords sound wr--”_

A knock on the door interrupted the verse. Geoff set down his paint brush and wiped his hands on his shirt quickly. He paused the stereo and quickly made his way over to the door. When he pulled it open, the sight made him raise his eyebrows a little.

A man was standing there-- probably only a little younger than Geoff by the looks of him. His hair was a dirty blonde and slicked back, his jaw was clean shaven and sharp. The guy was wearing a too big t-shirt and black pajama pants. His eyes were blue, the kind of blue that pierced you deep inside somehow. The expression on his face was dark--angry. He was pissed about something.

“Uh, hi? How can I help you?” Geoff asked nervously, gripping the edge of the door tightly.

“You the one blasting the Rent soundtrack?” The stranger growled through his teeth. “At six o’clock in the fucking morning?” Geoff swallowed hard. Apparently the walls were much thinner than he thought.

“Yeah--uh, you recognize it? Never meet anybody that knows it.” Geoff gave a small smirk. “I just moved in. I’m Geoff Ramsey. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Listen--you can listen to your music all you fucking want, but do it at a reasonable volume. Some people are trying to sleep.” A look of consideration passed over the man’s face. “I’m Ryan Haywood.” Geoff looked Ryan up and then down, taking in his appearance again.

“Sorry, man. I had no idea it was that loud. Really, I apologize.” Geoff huffed out a small laugh before holding out a tattooed hand, hoping Ryan would at least give him a handshake. Ryan took Geoff’s hand without hesitation, shaking it harshly with a strong grip.

“As long as you don’t do it again, we’ll be cool. Thanks. I’m your neighbor, by the way.” Geoff nodded and smiled again.

“I just moved in a couple weeks ago. I’m surprised my loud music hasn’t brought you to my doorstep sooner.” Geoff tapped his fingers on the wood of the door, considering the impulse to offer the man a cup of coffee and a conversation to make up for ruining his morning. “Listen-- really, I’m sorry that I ruined your morning. Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee? It’s the least I can do.”

Ryan’s expression softened and he gave a handsome smile. He accepted Geoff’s offer and Geoff stepped out of the way to let him inside. Geoff shut the door and padded over to the kitchen to pour another mug of coffee.

\---

“I don’t have any sugar--is that alright?” Geoff asked, turning to Ryan with a bright blue mug in his hand. Ryan was staring at the half finished canvas in the corner, and the open sketchbook on the floor next to it.

“Yeah, that’s fine, I take it black. Listen--this is really fucking cool.” Ryan met Geoff halfway and accepted the mug eagerly.

“Oh, that? It’s just… a gift, yeah. A gift for a student of mine.” Geoff offered Ryan to sit down at his small kitchen table, a chair on either side. Ryan sat down while Geoff retrieved his own mug from the windowsill.

“Student? You teach?” Ryan raised his eyebrows, watching Geoff as he sat down across from Ryan.

“Yeah, up at the college. The art school.”

“No way, really? I teach one of the theater classes there. How have we not run into each other?”

“Do you seriously? That’s nuts. I wouldn’t expect you to work in theater. You’re just so…” Geoff had to stop and think, sipping his coffee.

“So what?” Ryan leaned over the table and his voice had deepened in a way that made Geoff squirm. It was creepy. Uncomfortably creepy.

“Lumberjacky. Masculine,” Geoff blurted out, immediately regretting his poor word choice. He sounded like an idiot. Ryan thought it was funny though, and belted out a laugh.

“Lumberjacky? Holy shit.” Ryan was still laughing, head down over his mug. “I’ve never heard that before. I’ve heard the too masculine excuse before though.”

“Well, you know, you don’t meet many manly men that work in the arts. Ever. I mean, shit, look at me. I fit everybody’s artist stereotype.” Geoff chuckled, looking across the room at his not-even-close-to-being-finished painting.

“Why are you painting a gift for a student, may I ask? That seems really odd. He’d better be your lover or something at least.” The comment caused a slight blush on Geoff’s face, and he quickly shook his head.

“He’s--a friend. It’s a pretty long story.” Geoff smiled, staring down into the table.

“I’m kind of curious. He’s gotta be some kind of student, or friend, or whatever he is to you. It’s pretty early, I’m not meeting for rehearsals until later today. Mind if I hear this tale?”

Geoff took notice of Ryan’s professional speaking patterns. He spoke as if he was a character in a play. It was odd--very odd, but something about it just fit Ryan. Geoff took a deep sigh and tried to think about how to word it.

“On Thursday night, I was staying late to work on something. I was just drawing, minding my own business.” Ryan nodded to indicate he was listening. Geoff brought a hand to his face and twirled his mustache with two fingers.

He told Ryan about the encounter, about how Michael had literally came crashing into his life. The boy with tightly curled hair and a slight New Jersey accent. Geoff told Ryan about what he had seen in the sketchbook, the bear man with a diamond sword. He described the different names and details of lively characters that Michael had brought out onto paper. He spoke in admiration, trying to accurately convey the youth and energy this kid had.

“He fucking broke into the college? And you didn’t call security? You looked through his sketchbook?” Ryan’s eyebrows were knitted together, he looked concerned and confused. “Geoff, you are easily the strangest person I have ever met. Anyways, continue. I want to know how he became your student. Apologies for interrupting.”

Geoff gave him a smile that said it was okay, and continued with his story. He told Ryan about the deal with the stapler, about how odd the challenge had been. Geoff had never thought about the absurdity of the encounter until now--as he told it to somebody else. He explained that he forced the extra art lessons onto Michael as opposed to having him arrested, and that Michael was a fantastic person.

“We had our first meeting last night, and he’s so fucking smart. He’s a quick learner--he gets it, you know? He understands what I’m talking about when I explain methods to him. Michael--he’s fucking wild. I never thought I’d meet somebody that age with that much general interest in what I have to say. The kids that I’m contractually required to teach are mighty interested, yeah, but not like Michael is.” Geoff took a deep breath, not even thinking about what he was saying. He definitely would have kept going if Ryan didn’t interrupt him.

“Geoff, man, I know I’m probably not one to have any kind of an opinion on this. It’s whatever you want to do, it’s just so fucking crazy. This is something you only read in books and plays, this shit doesn’t actually happen to people.”

“It happened to me. And I’m still having trouble believing it’s real.” Geoff sighed, rubbing a hand on his face. “I drove him home last night. His trolley had already stopped running. It didn’t feel weird. Although, it definitely should have. Who drives home a student that they’ve only known for two days?”

“You guys seem more like friends than student and teacher, to be honest. Just, friends under a very strange circumstance. It honestly sounds like you might even really like this guy--but I don’t know you too much yet. I can’t really say something like that. That was kind of out of place. I uh, I have to go get ready. My kids are expecting me in a few hours, and I like to get there before them. I’ll see you around, aye? It was nice talking to you. Thanks for the coffee, by the way.” Ryan spoke quickly and got out of the small apartment before Geoff could say anything back.

Was Ryan trying to say that Geoff had a crush on a twenty year old? Was he really gushing enough to give off that vibe? Geoff stared down into his now empty mug, frowning harshly. He was attached to Michael. Much, much quicker than he would have ever liked. However, a crush was out of the question. He didn’t get feelings like that for people. Not anymore, anyways.

\--

Monday evening, Geoff watched Michael approach the building. Geoff was practically bursting with excitement, eager to present Michael with the gift he’d made him over the weekend.

They made their way to Geoff’s studio. Michael had avoided asking what was making Geoff so absolutely giddy. Upon entering the studio, Michael took in the sight of new posters from a different artist hanging next to Brooks.

“Are we gonna talk about those?” He asked, but Geoff was already on the other side of the room staring up at a canvas. “What’s that?”

“Come over here and find out. I made this for you. It’s easier to see small details on a larger scale.” Geoff stepped aside and allowed Michael to get as close as possible to the painting. He watched the expression on Michael’s face change from confusion to absolute fascination.

Michael stared at the painting with wide eyes, taking in everything he could manage. The painting of a man on a lake. Geoff had redone the sketch that Michael paid most attention to on Friday. He’d made it bigger, more colorful. Michael absorbed all the colors, the gentle lapping of the lake against the wooden dock. The man who still remained an anonymous black figure, his fishing pole cast far. The different blends of greens from the trees were a stark contrast to the oranges and reds of the sun setting in the sky.

“This is… Geoff. This is incredible. Why did you do this?” Michael turned to the professor, who was leaning against the wall with a goofy smile on his face.

“You seemed interested in the sketch. So, I figured, why not blow it up? You’d be able to see more detail. You’d be able to examine it more, you know? I just thought it would be ni--” Geoff was cut off by the rib-crushing hug that Michael pulled him into.

“Thank you, Geoff. I’m going to analyze the shit out of it.” Geoff sighed and ruffled Michael’s hair, returning the hug with one arm.

“You’re welcome, Michael.”

\--

For the first time in Geoff’s life, he had a set schedule. He had some kind of order to guide him along, to stop him from drinking himself into a coma on weeknights. Every Saturday morning, Ryan came over for coffee and the two bonded. They discussed musicals and got into heavy debates on whether or not the movie adaption was better than broadway. Ryan was a huge nerd, Geoff learned. He played games like Dungeons and Dragons and Magic the Gathering. Stuff that Geoff didn’t understand, but Ryan was trying to teach him.

Every Sunday afternoon, he went out to lunch with Burnie so they could talk about classes and assist in sorting out lesson plans. The biggest downfall, however, was that Geoff sucked at math. Burnie was a math professor, and Burnie was terrible in the art field. He couldn’t tell a Monet from a Van Gogh. They somehow made it work, able to talk about students that overlapped into both of their classes.

Five days a week, Geoff was at the school at seven a.m., or at least a few minutes after seven. He always ended up getting caught in conversation with Gavin and Barbara in the cantina near the school’s lobby. They were always pitching questions to him about ridiculous scenarios, sometimes joined by Gavin’s girlfriend. After he lectured his classes on some art history every Monday, he put more posters up of various artists. After a few weeks, the room looked significantly less empty. Each student had come up to examine all the posters at least once or twice, basing that week’s assignments off of the creative pieces.

Michael was a large piece of Geoff’s schedule, and they saw each other every weeknight. They heavily discussed the comic series being made by Gavin and Ray, they talked about movies. They argued about which version of Evil Dead happened to be better. Geoff preferred the old one, while Michael insisted that the graphics in the new version made it much better. Michael took interest in several of Geoff’s drawings, and each one he showed a serious interest in was one that Geoff would paint that weekend and bring it in on Monday. He hung them on the wall opposite of the posters, and was sure to show Michael every single one.

They were caught up talking until one or two in the morning every night. It had become part of their routine for Geoff to drive him home. Their conversations evolved and now they only ended when Michael got out of the car. It was a strong change from their first night. Geoff was learning more about Michael, and found out the reason he doesn’t have to work on their lesson nights is that he gets paid for editing Ray’s videos and creating characters for low budget video games. He also did a lot of editing on a short animated series that Gavin was making, Michael invested time in making things less choppy.

The warm September had started to fade into cold October , a slight frost appearing on the grass every morning. Geoff had ended up not noticing how fast time was starting to go by, and it made him happy to know that the days weren’t dragging on. His schedule kept him busy and happy.

 ****  


He had no time to think about his first conversation with Ryan and the scary idea that he had gotten attached to Michael too quickly.

\--

It was November first the first time it snowed. That was the day that Geoff received his first phone call from Michael, and it was only to bitch about how ugly the snow was and how badly he wanted to create some kind of scene for Mogar with it.

 ****  


Geoff couldn’t do anything but laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Naturally, thank you to [mightbeanasshole](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mightbeanasshole/profile) for everything they're contributing to the story <3 
> 
> Also, I highly recommend the Rent soundtrack. Seriously, it's amazing.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the late update. School has started up again, which means eight classes (I lack any kind of lunch or study hall) and also working stage crew for school plays and stuff. Super fun, super stressful, but I'm going to keep trying my best to write what I can. Thank you for being patient and sticking with me.   
> And of course, a lovely thanks to [Kelly](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mightbeanasshole/profile) for their wonderful editing and input. <3

The solid ache in Geoff’s chest felt like it was heavy--like it was weighing him down, refusing to let him out of bed. Today wasn’t real. That’s what he kept telling himself, anyways. Today didn’t really have to happen. If he stayed in bed and just pretended--no, no. There was no pretending anymore. Geoff rubbed his face with his hands and sighed. Today was going to be long, and it was going to be one of the worst days of his life.

Nothing would compare to the two days prior. The image of his mom with tears in her eyes, whispering for him to sit down. She had to tell him something, but wouldn’t talk. She refused to just blurt it out. She held his hands and when she spoke, Geoff could barely hear her. His world crashed down in a matter of seconds, but the two words came out of his mother’s mouth so slowly that he thought that time itself was slowing down, like it wanted the pain to be slow and powerful.

He groaned and opened his eyes, refusing to cry again right now. He’d have to go downstairs and face his family. Sure, they all were crying. He’d caught his cousin hiding in the basement so she could choke out sobs over a cigarette. He had gotten less than an hour of sleep over the past few days, completely unable to shake the thought of what was really happening. Nobody had slept though, and there was 25 family members crashing on various surfaces through his house. His uncles on the couch, his aunts and mother speaking in hushed whispers over coffee. His stepfather staring blankly out the window into their backyard.

Today was something that he just had to force himself through--he had to work through everything he was about to see. Forcing his body into the shower brought him one step closer to getting through the day. Geoff simply stood there for the better part of half an hour, hardly making an effort to wash himself.

After he had slung a black dress shirt over a black undershirt, he hadn’t bothered to button it just yet. Geoff made his way through the crowd of people that were collecting in the halls. His mom handed him a mug of coffee and gave him that look--that sympathetic look that everybody was giving him. Staring him down like he was a puppy that had been kicked over and over. He could only give them a very forced ‘yeah, I’m okay’ smile before turning a different direction and trying to get away from everybody. He had to be strong today, for his mother. He had to be strong for his younger siblings, and his stepfather.

Several things were certain about this day. It was going to suck, Geoff was tired, and he was pretty sure he was going to punch the next person that said “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Hours passed consisting of multiple cups of coffee and short conversations, before it was finally time to walk over. Geoff slowly buttoned up his shirt, flipping up the collar and choosing a patterned black tie to go against the plain fabric. He stared at himself in the mirror with a blank expression as he tightened the knot. Geoff could understand why people were looking at him like they were. His eyes were deep, hollowed, and rubbed red. He looked haunted, like something had scared every ounce of life out of his face. His entire body felt like it was torn apart and then shittily glued together again. Barely holding on, threatening to slowly slip apart at any second.

He flipped his collar back down, sliding on a red beanie and his sneakers. He grabbed his keys and wallet, hoping to stop at the bakery on the way back. It was time for him to go, and Geoff couldn’t help himself from looking out the window. Alabama was a hot place, yet outside was… snow. Large, fat white flakes fell onto the frost that covered the grass. The sky was gray and cloudy, gloomy. All 16 years of his life, he’d never seen snow before. His brother had always raved about it. He saw it whenever he went to visit a college up north. He was proud of the snowman he’d built up there, showing the whole family multiple pictures. Geoff swallowed hard.

His brother was rather fond of the snow. It was quite the coincidence that the only time snow was visible in Alabama was on the day of his funeral.

\---

Geoff woke up, a cold sweat covering him. He was gasping for air, shooting straight up in his bed. After a few seconds and being able to recollect his thoughts, he pulled his knees close to his chest. Geoff rested his forehead on his legs, letting out a sob. It only took one for others to pour out, sadness taking him in a wave. After that, it was another wave. Then another one.

\---

It was only the first day of November. And around six or seven in the morning, snow started to fall from the sky. Geoff stared blankly out the window, sipping his coffee. Naturally, it had to snow. It was his first winter in Oregon--he knew it would snow. He just wished it hadn’t been that morning. Of all mornings. He ran a tattooed hand through his hair, pushing it to an even further mess than it was before. It was early on a Sunday, and Geoff hoped classes would be canceled tomorrow due to bad roads.

His phone went off and he took a look at whatever notification it was.

**[6:47AM] BURNIE: TEXT MESSAGE**

**SLIDE TO OPEN**

Geoff frowned, wondering why Burnie was awake so early on a Sunday.

**[6:47AM] Burnie: Can’t make lunch, sorry :(**

**[6:48AM] Geoff: Aw, bummer. You cheating on me?**

Almost instantly, his phone went off again. Just as he started to wonder how Burnie could have possibly replied so quickly, he saw what name showed up.

**[6:48AM] MICHAEL: IMESSAGE**

**SLIDE TO OPEN**

Geoff raised his eyebrows but made his way to sit down at the kitchen table. He set his mug down and opened the text message.

**[6:48AM] Michael: I swear to God, you old bitch, as soon as it says you read this I’m calling you to yell about something VERY IMPORTANT!!!!**

The urgency and ridiculousness of the text made him snort. Michael never texted him unless he was stating he was going to be late or early for one of their classes, or if he would be able to stop by real quick in between classes to show off a new drawing. The young man had never called him before. As promised, it was moments after Geoff read the text message that his phone began to vibrate aggressively against the table. He answered, prepared to get an earful.

“Look outside. Geoff. Look outside.” Michael sounded blank, like he was shocked with disbelief. Geoff thought he would humor Michael, and abandoned his coffee to go look outside again.

“You mean the snow?” He asked calmly, a smile creeping on his lips.

“No, the fucking beautiful and sunny weather. YES, THE FUCKING SNOW. IT’S GOD DAMN NOVEMBER. NOVEMBER, GEOFF!” Geoff had to pull the device away from his ear, snickering.

“Yes, it’s snow. You’ve lived here a bit longer than I have, are you still not used to it? And aren’t you from New Jersey?”

“That doesn’t matter! It’s fucking miserable outside! Fuck the snow, dude.” Michael muttered the last sentence, before his side of the line became muffled and then indecipherable screaming was heard. “Sorry. Gavin is an idiot.”

“I hate the snow as much as the next guy, but don’t you think it’s at least a little pretty?” Geoff was not at all about to ask what Gavin could have possibly done. He heard a huff from the other side of the call.

“Fuck no.” The reply was stubborn, and Geoff could almost hear the expression on Michael’s face. Furrowed eyebrows and his free arm crossed across his chest. He let out a high pitched laugh, receiving a rather angry response from Michael. “And what the fuck are you laughing at, old bitch?”

“Hey, hey, stop calling me that! I’m not that old!” Geoff defended, his voice cracking.

“Lordy, lordy, Geoff is...how old are you?” Michael had started off the joke with confidence, before faltering. He didn’t know how old Geoff was.

“32.” Geoff muttered, trying to reply as quiet as possible.

“Oh, that’s not that bad. Only twelve fucking years older than me.” Michael barked, unable to help himself from laughing at the last part.

“At least I’m not, like, 40. THAT is old.” Geoff said quickly, standing up straighter and making his whole posture more defensive. Michael couldn’t see him, but that thought never entered Geoff’s mind.

“You’re right. That IS old.” Michael giggled, a warm and happy sound that brought a smile back on Geoff’s face.

Geoff considered Michael’s hatred for the cold, thinking about something he could do to make the kid not hate the snow so much. A small beep interrupted the comfortable silence. Geoff looked at his phone and realized he got a reply from Burnie.

“Hey, Michael. Hold up a second. I got a text.”

“Sure thing.”

**[7:03AM] Burnie: The wife is demanding I spend more time with her. She’s just jealous. Also, the school board just called me.**

**[7:04AM] Geoff: Tell her it’s all no homo, for sure. What did they call about**

**[7:04AM] Burnie: You should have gotten it too. All classes are canceled tomorrow, I guess too much ice froze overnight and they’re making the call now.**

“Sorry about that. Hey, classes are canceled tomorrow, by the way.”

“What? What the fuck? How can they cancel it over 24 hours before it’s even time for class?”

“Beats me, honestly. Apparently some rain froze overnight, and it’s pretty nasty downtown. I’ll have to check the news and stuff for more details. I missed a call from the school board, but Burnie just told me.” Geoff heard a muffled shout, Michael was probably covering his microphone when he did that.

“Thanks for letting me know, they probably won’t tell us at all. We’ll just show up and nobody will be there.”

“Honestly, it’s pretty likely. Colleges do that.” Geoff’s mind wandered back to trying to think of some way that he could teach Michael about snow being beneficial. “Michael, we’re friends, correct?”

“Uh, yeah? I’d think so. Regular students don’t call their teachers and talk on the phone for half an hour about bullshit.” Michael seemed almost offended by Geoff’s question.

“Well, as your friend and as your teacher, I think you need to go on a field trip and realize that snow isn’t that bad. It’s gonna be here till like, March. Time to suck it up.” Geoff held his breath as he waited for an answer from his student, the call going very quiet. He heard a laugh break out.

“Geoff fuckin’ Ramsey. Are you asking me to go on a trip somewhere with you?” Michael asked, still giggling slightly. Geoff grinned.

“I might be. We’ve known each other for long enough, right? Three months?” Geoff stared at the snow that was still falling from the sky.

“You know what? I’ve got nothing better to do. One condition, though.” Michael said expertly, like he’d already thought the whole thing through.

“And what is that?”

“No homo, right?”

Geoff laughed loud and hard, grabbing onto his leg and leaning over. His eyes squinted shut and he had to struggle to catch his breath again. When he managed to calm down a bit, he realized Michael was laughing too.

“Just a bromantic trip to the lake I’ve told you so much about. No homo.” Geoff confirmed. Michael talked a little bit more, asking what he’d need to pack and how long exactly they’d be gone.

The phone call was ended a bit later, the two chatting about places to stop for food. It was nearing eight in the morning when they mutually decided to pack for an overnight trip and Geoff would pick Michael up within the hour. Michael was fine with sleeping in Geoff’s rather large SUV, it had heat and definitely beat the bitter cold they were going to have to deal with.

Geoff stared at his phone afterwards, seeing the missed call from the college in his log. He was smiling wide, a warm feeling spreading in his chest.

 **  
**That was the first time Geoff realized how completely and utterly fucked he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several parts revolving around Geoff's past are going to come up in the next few chapters! 
> 
> Please comment any suggestions or anything at all, really! Thank you!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. It's been around three? weeks since i've updated this. I am so. SO. sorry. 
> 
> Truthfully, I need a break from this story to get some fresh ideas. This chapter is forced and rushed to get pushed out and i'm sorry for the low quality :(  
> This chapter is entirely Michael's POV.

Michael was trying to figure out exactly how things led up to this point in his life.

He had decided that he would start with the big things, breaking down every event that brought him here.

\---

In his last two years of high school, Michael began applying to every art college around the country. Every Art Institute, every academy, every university that offered video game design classes. Ray and him had made sure to apply to all the same schools, praying to be roommates throughout college.

He got his acceptance letter to Pacific before his senior year had even started. His first reaction was to call Ray, crying with the amount of joy that overcame him. Ray had gotten his letter a few days ago, and that had settled it. They were going to go to Oregon together, hoping to find another guy to help with the rent.

\---

Ray met Gavin over gaming forums halfway through their last year of school, and the two became fast friends. It didn’t take long for Ray to introduce Michael to his new British friend over Skype, and the trio was quickly attached.

Anytime that Ray and Michael weren’t busy working on their graduation projects, they were on Skype with Gavin. They created guides for getting achievements on Xbox, posting them all over the internet.

Gavin had asked them when they were going to ‘Uni’ and where they had decided on going.

Michael and Ray gave each other a thoughtful look, grinning stupidly at each other. They asked Gavin to move to America, maybe even apply if he could. Move in with them, start something else here. Meet each other for the first time in person.

Gavin agreed instantly.

\---

The day that Michael met Gavin, it was summer in Portland. They’d shifted from Jersey to Oregon as soon as their diplomas were in their hands. Ray had called them a taxi, almost bursting from excitement. He wanted to get to the airport, make sure Gavin got here safe.

Gavin walked through the terminal, all too thin and lanky limbs. He was squinting and looking around, searching desperately for his friends. Michael and Ray sprinted towards him, and the three gripped each other in a tight group hug.

\---

The first phone call with his mom when he moved to Portland, her frantic worrying and constant questions.

Did you make it okay? How was the flight? You’re not in a bad neighborhood, right? Have you been to the school yet?

He supposed that his parents would spend his whole life nagging him about every big accomplishment he went through next. It was something that would never change.

\---

Gavin met Meg at a comic book store, and he brought her home to meet Ray and Michael. He was so excited, having met such a perfect girl for him in a random place. Her purple hair and bright smile were great company, and Gavin fell for her quickly. Michael’s heart sank.

He never knew why.

\---

Michael learned to play guitar in high school. His brother begged him to learn, even taught him a few things. Those first few weeks on the west coast consisted of Michael locking himself in his room and playing songs, humming along to them. He was homesick.

It took awhile for the homesickness to wear off. It took until he laid eyes on Geoff for the first time. The weird, disheveled man with green paint in his mustache and books almost falling out of his arms.

This place was filled with weird people--exciting people--and it was where he belonged. He was out of New Jersey and he never had to go back.

\---

His mind flashed back to today, skipping over most of the time in the past two years. He thought about how today’s events brought him here. He thought about how Geoff smelled smokey in the good way, like someone who spent a lot of time at campfires.

\---

Immediately after picking him up, Geoff had to circle back and pick up his wallet, which he intelligently forgot.

He invited Michael inside with him, and Michael accepted. He discovered that Geoff lived about three blocks from the school, and he rented out an apartment in one of the nicest complexes that Michael has ever seen.

The studio apartment was almost exactly what Michael had expected it to look like, empty coffee mugs and art supplies scattered everywhere. The place had neat walls with portraits and canvas hanging up all over. There was an easel in the corner with a stool, a small table next to it that contained all kinds of paints and brushes. He noticed that Geoff had a small round table with a chair on either side.

He stood in the doorway and took in the sight of his tutor’s home, breathing in the smell of coffee that had lingered mixing itself with the sharp scent of paint. There was a bed neatly tucked in the corner next to a large glass door that went onto a small balcony. The bed was loaded with thick, dark comforters and matching pillows. There was one other thing that seemed to have had a home on the bed.

A large plush shark toy.

Michael had stifled a laugh, Geoff frowning at him and muttering out a ‘don’t patronize me’ before digging around on the counters for his wallet.

Michael saw a half empty bottle of some cheap liquor sitting next to the bed, raising an eyebrow at Geoff.

“I’m trying to quit. Sometimes you just fall off the wagon.”

\---

At the diner for breakfast, Michael asked Geoff why he started drinking heavily in the first place. Nobody kept the bottle next to their bed if that’s not what they were doing.

Geoff said that it was to make the nightmares stop, speaking as if the answer were obvious and didn’t need an explanation.

Michael asked when they started, worried about his friend’s health.

Geoff took a long time to think about his answer, staring out the window and not touching his food for several minutes. He told Michael that they started when he was 16, right before his 17th birthday. They started after his older brother died.

Michael didn’t have a response, only a look that crossed his face for a second. It was a look that was filled with sympathy. After seeing Geoff’s expression go hard and cold after seeing it, Michael wanted to punch himself in the stomach. Geoff didn’t want his sympathy.

\---

The lake was beautiful, covered with a thin frost and snow scattering the ground around them. They’d made the choice to go to a lake that was different from the one in the painting. A much prettier lake, with much more to see. They didn’t speak of the conversation from breakfast.

Geoff was wearing a thick flannel jacket with the hood pulled over his head, buttoned up to his neck. It was strange to see him in something other than undershirts and half-past-destroyed dress shirts.

It was a good strange, a solid strange. One that he could get used to.

\---

As promised, they were going to sleep in the back of Geoff’s monstrous SUV. Michael watched him move their things up to the second row and push the last row down. He grabbed thick blankets and neatly laid them out into a makeshift bed.

They watched the sun set over the lake before cracking the windows and shutting the back of the car so they could go to sleep for the night.

\---

Michael woke up to the sound of strangled sobs next to him, and he sat up quickly and tried to piece together what was going on. Geoff was curled up with his face in his knees, whimpers coming from him. Michael lightly rested a hand on Geoff’s shoulder.

Geoff responded with slipping his arms around Michael. Michael did the same, petting his hair and telling him that he promised everything was okay. Geoff sobbed into his shoulder as Michael laid them back down again. He held Geoff close until he fell asleep again, kissing his head.

  
When he woke up the next morning to the sun shining, he realized that him and Geoff were still intertwined. Arms tangled together around each other’s torsos, legs overlapping. Michael was trying to figure out exactly how things led up to this point in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can always contact me at my tumblr [here](http://www.butcherface.tumblr.com). And if you want check out my newest micheoff/raywood project based around greasers and the fake ah crew, click [here! ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4856255/chapters/11128301)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess whats back  
> back again  
> gay art schools back  
> tell a friend

NOVEMBER 5TH 2015

THURSDAY

“So, are you gonna tell me what happened when you went to that lake?” Burnie said, raising his eyebrows. He was sitting across from Geoff over lunch.

“Should I get a cat?” Geoff asked, staring out the window.

“Geoff. Please. We have important things to discuss. Like whatever the hell it is that you did with that boy over the weekend.” Burnie sighed, taking another bite of his salad. Geoff had been reluctant to talk about it, aside from mentioning that the trip even happened.

“I had a cat when I was a teenager. His name was Beef. I miss Beef. We were best friends. Maybe I should get a cat.” Geoff was blatantly ignoring Burnie, crossing his arms over his chest and not touching his food.

“God damnit, Geoff. Please. What the hell happened?” Burnie’s voice raised slightly, turning some heads in the restaurant. He cleared his throat and shot another glare at Geoff--who still wasn’t looking at him.

“Nothing happened. Seriously, though, should I get a cat?” Geoff finally turned to his friend and made a weak smile.

“You’re so full of shit. You tell me everything but you won’t talk about the trip. Something had to have happened. Enough about the damn cat.”

“Geez, harsh. What did Beef the Second ever do to you?” Geoff muttered, taking a sip of his coke.

“Nothing--nothing,” Burnie sighed, closing his eyes and trying to figure out where this conversation was going. “Look, okay, you’ve just been acting weird all week. Have you been meeting with Michael like normal? Or are you being weird to him too?” Burnie questioned, shoving another forkful of greens into his mouth.

“We are meeting. But it’s strictly art talk. That’s all. We don’t talk about much else.”   
  


“Something did happen. You don’t want to tell me, but I know. Trust me on this one.” Burnie pointed his fork towards Geoff in a vaguely threatening manner.

“Whatever, my dude. Believe whatever you want.” Geoff puffed out a laugh and went back to staring out the window. The two went silent for a minute before Burnie asked the question Geoff was expecting.

“Beef? Really?” Burnie asked, finally. Geoff grinned at him.

“You bet your ass.”

“Why beef?”

“Well, he was black and white. Like a cow. So, of course. Beef. What could be more fitting?” Geoff answered matter-of-factly, like it was a no brainer as to why he named his cat fucking Beef.

“I don’t know, how about something normal. You know, like Oreo or some shit. Like every other kid.”

“Please, when have I ever been so boring as to name a pet something OTHER than Beef? Come on, Burns. You know me better than that. Also, I wasn’t a kid. I was 18.” Geoff puffed, almost frowning at his friend for assuming he was capable of doing something so dull.

“Wait, is this that cat you hid in our dorm room in college that you pretended I didn’t know about?”

“Well. Yes.” Geoff smiled wide.

“The one you literally refused to acknowledge the existence of whenever I asked you about it?” Geoff nodded at the question.

“That’s the one.”

“Tell me about this cat.” Burnie gave in to his curiosity and waited to hear the story of Beef.  
  


“Alright, well, one day it was raining, and I heard a knock at the door.” Geoff started, his eyes lighting up.

\---

NOVEMBER 6TH 2015

FRIDAY

“Oh come on, enough about Andy Warhol.” Michael snapped, pushing up from his stool and pacing in front of Geoff’s desk. He took several deep breaths, telling himself he wasn’t going to lose it.  

He looked over to see Geoff frowning hard, hands crossed over the book they were looking at together. Drawings and prints were, as always, boldly displayed over the small desk. Geoff’s sweater and thick dress shirt were rolled up to his elbows neatly. His dark tattoos were showing off, an intricate mess of artwork that worked its way down to his hands and blossomed over his fingers. Michael caught himself staring at them multiple times that night, unable to focus on the subject matter.

Michael met Geoff’s eyes, cold and distant. They both knew the conversation that was about to happen.

“You want to talk about it.” Geoff said quietly, moving to put a hand over his forehead. He leaned back in the chair, staring upwards at the ceiling of the art classroom.

“Yes, I want to talk about it. Why the hell wouldn’t I want to talk about it? I feel like I deserve some answers here, honestly,” Michael said through his teeth, returning to the pacing. “You’ve been ignoring any kind of intimate conversation. Everything has to come from a textbook, or an art biography, or whatever.”

“You’re right. You do deserve answers.” Michael stopped pacing and turned to stare at Geoff. His chest tightened.

\---

NOVEMBER 2ND 2015

MONDAY

Ignoring it is the only way to make sure it doesn’t happen again. That was the mindset that Geoff was going to stick with. It took no time at all for him to drop his bags, throw his keys on the counter. Geoff shut the door and shrugged his jacket off, leaving it on top of his luggage.

It was less than five minutes before his hands were free and a bottle of cheap whiskey was pressed on his lips. The warm alcohol was in a light plastic bottle, and it went down with a slight burn. The aftertaste lingered while he put ice into a glass. It was less than 35 minutes before he had consumed two drinks and three cigarettes out of the large window.

The smoke made his stomach turn.

His head was swimming with regret when it was less than 40 minutes and he did two shots of off brand vodka. He was drinking far too much far too fast, and allowed himself to fall on his cool sheets, welcoming the feeling of something that wasn’t moving.

He needed something to keep him grounded. He wanted it to be Michael again, the warm Michael that held him together when his dreams tried to tear him at the seams.

Geoff could feel himself melting apart, not breaking. This was slower and more painful, wanting to forget every stupid thing he did.

He couldn’t have Michael. That was something he simply couldn’t do. Michael was his student, and he needed to forget feeling anything else.

‘Maybe sleep will come to me,’ he thinks. ‘Maybe I will get lucky just this once, and I can forget what happened.’

Of course he thought wrong. Of course it only got worse when he checked his phone the next morning and realized he was late for work. His skull was trying to split open as he read the texts from Michael, asking if he was okay.

\---

NOVEMBER 6TH 2015

FRIDAY

“You were having a horrible nightmare, you woke me up. I didn’t know what else to do about it, Geoff. I didn’t know what else to do besides...holding you like that.” Michael sighed, furrowing his eyebrows.

“I didn’t have to do what I did, though--” Geoff started.

“Hush--just, hush. Look, if we’re going to do this, let’s start with some questions. Does that sound good?”

Geoff nodded.

“Did you go home and drink yourself into oblivion or something after you dropped me off? You didn’t answer any of my texts, and you looked like absolute hell on Tuesday.” Michael was standing up, hands on the desk. He was standing opposite of where Geoff was sitting, and Geoff almost felt like he was being interrogated. He felt like he didn’t have any power, as if Michael was holding all the cards.

“Yes. That sounds about right.” Geoff swallowed hard, overwhelmed with the memory of having to drive Michael home that morning. He tried to keep his expression blank, his mouth pressed into a hard line.

“What happened wasn’t that bad. This--THIS isn’t that bad, Geoff. You--you were freaking out. You were having a nightmare or some kind, I just--” Michael holding Geoff’s hand. Michael looking at him with that look.

Michael slowly sat back down and gave Geoff the same look. Geoff’s chest tightened up.

“Are you okay with this?” Michael’s face was soft and open. He wasn’t hiding his emotions, and Geoff could read everything Michael was feeling.

“No. I’m not okay with this.” Geoff remembered Michael telling him that it’s okay. Geoff remembered believing him.

“Can you please tell me why you freaked out?”

“Because, I--” Geoff thought for a moment. “I suck. Is that enough of an answer? I don’t let myself get close to people because bad things will happen.”

“Geoff, how the hell do you know that’s true?” Michael asked, his tone soft.

“Because that’s what happens. I’m like a time bomb, Michael. I grow attached quickly and end up making people uncomfortable.”

“So, you’re saying you got attached to me, and that you don’t want to annoy me or freak me out to the point of me leaving you?”

“Uh, yes. I think that’s a good summary.” Geoff let out an empty laugh and ran a hand through his hair.

“You’re a fucking idiot.” Michael just grinned at Geoff, leaving him confused.

“I know you’re right, but can you tell me why?”

“I initiated everything. Everything that happened was my fault. If you’re going to blame either of us for what happened, blame me.” Michael was still grinning, all perfect white teeth and dorky glasses.

“God, this is so fucked,” Geoff whispered, turning his attention to the ceiling.

  
  
“Why the hell do you blame yourself for this?” Michael’s looked lost. His eyes were wide, his mouth remaining slightly open in almost a pout. 

“You’re a smart boy. Figure it out. I’m sure you’ll get it. Now come on, we both have to get home. It’s getting kinda late.”

Geoff ended the conversation at that, standing and packing his stuff into his bag. Michael did the same, eyebrows furrowed in frustration. Geoff was quick to exit the conversation, obviously avoiding what happened even if he said he would talk about it. They walked out to Geoff’s car in silence, allowing tension to build. After they got in and Geoff started the engine, Geoff turned to Michael.

“Do you think I should get a cat?”

“Honestly, I don’t think you’re home enough to take care of a damn animal, Geoff. You’re literally at this school 15 hours a day or more.” Michael laughed, buckling his seatbelt.

“Hm. Damn. You’re right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thank you to the wonderful [mightbeanasshole](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mightbeanasshole/profile) for all of their input and recommendations with this story. it wouldn't be what it is without them. 
> 
> Bonus: for the whole background involving Beef, see [here](http://horrificsmut.tumblr.com/tagged/this%20is%20a%20beef%20the%20kitten%20tag)
> 
> and if you want to contact me with comments/questions/concerns you can hit me up on my tumblr [here](http://butcherface.tumblr.com)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the slow updates!

> "I'm stuck on a memory,
> 
> Of you dancing in a backyard in North Jersey.
> 
> You're holding sparklers,
> 
> And silhouetted by the porch lights on a summer evening.
> 
> So, while I'm pulling my gloves off with my teeth,
> 
> It occurred to me you used to be happy.
> 
> I curse the dashboard heat,
> 
> It's fucking freezing.
> 
> Asleep in the backseat,
> 
> Oh god, I'm shaking. I'm empty.
> 
> I feel so damn empty."
> 
> \--  _Runnin' Scared -_ _Aaron West and the Roaring Twenties_

"I can't believe this. I'm telling you, this play will be a hit! We already have the cast, there's no going back. Just because it's not well known doesn't mean any-- you know what, just go. Read this over." Ryan growled and turned away from his students. He rubbed his temple with one hand, face twisted with frustration. He shuffled away from the class, sitting down next to Geoff in the aisle.

"Big Fish? Really, dude? I'm with the kids on this one. This play sucks. I saw it in high school." Geoff laughed, earning himself an icy glare from Ryan.

Students were gathered on the stage, passing around thick packets and highlighters. Not one of them liked the idea, but Geoff was pretty sure they were going with it out of fear. Possibly intimidation. He didn't blame them for either.

"It was this or like... I don't even know. Probably something horrible. They wouldn’t clear anything good besides Shakespeare, and I’m not gonna put these kids through that." Ryan leaned back in the chair.

"Dude...this IS horrible." Geoff snatched Ryan's copy of the script and flipped through it.

"Shhhh...shh. I know, I’m trying to make it not horrible." Ryan shushed, not making any kind of movement towards getting the script back. He simply put one finger in front of his lips, the universal ‘shush” motion.

A student approached them, throwing nervous glances at Geoff. He had a purple hoodie, dark jeans, and checkered vans on. He seemed...out of place. His hair was messy and dark with equally dark stubble lining his jaw and growing in on his upper lip. Thick, square glasses framed his rather round face. Geoff observed his nervous body language and took a guess that it was time for him to leave.

“I’ll see you, Haywood.” Geoff grinned and clapped his friend on the shoulder before standing. He did an exaggerated stretch before walking out of the huge theater.

“Later, Ramsey.”

\---

“You want to know what happened, Gavin? Really weird stuff happened.” Michael rolled his eyes, trying to talk around his sandwich.

“My boi! Come on now, be honest. What happened? You always tell me about the meetings!” Gavin squawked, leaning uncomfortably close to Michael. Michael set his sandwich down and glared at Gavin.

“Lunch, he said. Lots of fun, he said. I won't pester you about Geoff, he said.” Michael muttered sarcastically, waving his hands around.

“Oh come on, why are you being such a knob?”

“Because I don’t want to talk about it but you’re trying to get me to talk about it.” Michael said, his tone sour.

“Please, lad. Somethin’ is bothering you. Ray told me you won’t tell him about it either--” Gavin’s eyes widened. He looked terrified of something, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Did he-- hurt you, or something? I’ll bloody kill him, lad. I’m telling you.”

“Gavin! No! He didn’t fucking do anything, okay? We just had a pretty intense talk--that’s all!” Michael tried to keep his voice down.

“What did you talk about?” Gavin grinned when he realized he’d finally cracked Michael--he was going to talk now. He revealed that there was _something_ to talk about.

“God, I fucking _hate_ you,” Michael groaned. “I just want to eat my lunch in peace.”

Gavin just grinned wide at him, waiting.

“Alright, so, after that Monday morning he got all awkward and wouldn’t talk to me. Like, silent the whole ride home and everything. Tuesday, when we met up, he wouldn’t bring it up. He wouldn’t on Wednesday or Thursday either. So I did. When Friday rolled around.” Gavin nodded, waiting for Michael to continue. “He--I don’t know. He told me that he got super drunk and...that he blames himself for what happened.”

“But--weren’t you the one who?”

“Yes, yes. I was. I told him that. He said he blames himself, and that I’ll figure it out. Told me he doesn’t get close to people. Scares them off too easily.” Michael pushed his plate away, laying his arms out on the table.

“Do you think he blames himself because he’s a teacher and you’re a student?” Gavin watched as Michael put his head down.

“I think he blames himself because he’s a self-loathing old bitch who can’t handle actual human emotions in a healthy, stable manner.” Michael’s voice was muffled, burying his face further into his arms.

“You know, from what you’ve told me, that sounds pretty spot on,” Gavin snickered a bit, curling his hand into a fist. “Just tell him that it’s not a bad thing to have feelings.”

“Oh, Gavin,” Michael pulled his head up just enough to look at Gavin again. “That is much easier said than done.”

\---

“Listen, Michael. You know what’s fucked up?” Geoff spun around in his desk chair, stopping to lean on his desk. He stared at Michael, who was walking around the studio. Geoff watched him stop in front of the wall of canvases, carefully looking over every painting that Geoff had made for him.

“What?” Michael said, turning his head slightly over his shoulder. The man on the dock was dark blues and blacks, dark browns spread over the dock. Geoff smiled and stood, walking towards him. The mountains up in Washington during the summer were green and vibrant, alive.

“Have you ever thought about death?” Geoff stood next to him. The meadow was light greens and yellows, flowers blooming around an unknown person.

“Yes, of course. Everybody has. That’s kind of a loaded question, isn’t it?” Michael laughed, his smile filling Geoff with a different kind of warmth. The sunset was yellow orange, black birds were flying into it. That same weird feeling of his chest tightening. Geoff stopped looking at Michael and looked back up at the wall.

“Our memories disappear when we die. Nobody else gets to see the exact things we see, it’s all just gone when we’re gone. Like, we leave an impact on other people. But as individuals--we’re gone. That’s fucked up.” Out of the corner of his eye, Geoff could feel Michael staring at him. The rosebush was red, a dark red. Splattered over different shades of green.

“You’re scaring me a bit.” Michael offered nothing else. His face was filled with confusion, eyebrows furrowed. The sunrise was pink and orange, warm colors splattered across the whole scene.

“Everything we do matters. It impacts the entire world, everybody around us. Our choices change everything about this,” Geoff waved his arms, trying to gesture to everything. “However, when it comes down to it. Nothing matters to us, as individuals. We won’t remember it. I think that’s why people are afraid of dying. They’re afraid of not remembering.”

\--

Michael stared at Geoff, completely speechless. He watched Geoff turn to him and crack a smile. His eyes were tired, yet somehow sparking with energy at the same time. Geoff’s facial hair had become slightly unkempt, mustache beginning to blend in with the rest of his beard. Michael simply watched him, examining his expression. Wanting some kind of explanation for the small speech.

“What--what the hell even made you think about that, dude?”

“I watched this fucking TV show, some kid time traveled. Got me nine kinds of fucked up.” Michael tried to restrain from laughing, but failed spectacularly. Geoff frowned at him while he leaned forward, one hand on the wall to steady himself while he laughed.

“A fucking--tv show--where---somebody--time traveled?” Michael gasped out, trying to catch his breath. He had no idea why it was so damn funny, Geoff pulling a deep-ass life meaning theory from a tv show where someone time traveled.  

“Screw you, it’s some serious shit to think about. Some people make books about that stuff and get rich quick.” Geoff defended, voice cracking ridiculously in the middle of the sentence. Michael held his hands up in a ‘surrender’ position.

“Okay, okay, it was pretty damn beautiful. In like, a totally fucking dark and twisted way.” Geoff puffed out his chest with pride at Michael’s compliment.

“Alright, come on kid. It’s time we left. I’m tired of looking at this studio for right now.” Michael nodded in agreement and started suiting up in his multiple jackets.

“Thank god it’s Friday, right boss?”

“Hey now, not your boss. Watch your mouth, Michael.” Michael stuck out his tongue at the teacher in a childish manner.

Geoff buttoned up his overshirt, layering over it with a sweater and a thick flannel jacket. The same jacket he wore on the trip--dark blues and greens layering over each other. He threw the gray hood over his head after pulling on a black beanie. Michael put on his black earmuffs and slipped his bag over his shoulders.

“Alright, let’s go.” Michael grinned. Geoff took a moment to smile back, enjoying how young and excited Michael looked.

They headed outside, the cold hitting them instantly. Michael shoved his hands into his pockets and followed Geoff out to the parking lot.

Geoff realized that Michael had stopped following him. He turned around to see Michael standing on the curb, nose and cheeks rosy in the chill. Snow had started to fall, white specks starting to show up over Michael’s black jacket. He was just standing there, like he was waiting for something.

Geoff walked towards Michael, stopping right in front of him.

That’s when things started to move impossibly slow, the snow even seemed to start falling slower. Michael’s arms wrapped loosely around Geoff’s neck. They hung there, just on his shoulders. The weight was comforting in a strange way. The street lamp lit up Michael’s features so perfectly. Geoff took in the sight, the light highlighting his cheeks and nose and wonderfully brown eyes. Michael’s cheeks and chin and nose all taking on a pink tint. _He was a work of art._

Geoff slid his arms around Michael’s waist, snaking up his back. Michael was beautiful--freckles splattered across his cheeks and laying across his nose. Curly brown hair sticking out from under his hat, puffs of frozen breath coming out of his mouth. Small snowflakes landed on the tip of Michael’s nose, his eyelashes.

Geoff wanted to stand there and stare at Michael like that--perfectly lit in the street light at one am in the middle of fucking November. It was freezing and snowing but, god, Geoff just wanted to admire Michael just a little longer.

Then Geoff didn’t know if it was him or Michael that moved first--but now they were together, Michael’s lips meeting his. It was sweet and warm, the kiss was something more than a kiss for Geoff. It felt so incredibly right, and he changed his mind about wanting to stare at Michael for a bit longer. He wanted to kiss Michael for a bit longer.

Michael’s lips were slightly chapped from the recent weather. He was gentle and was kissing Geoff unbelievably slow, like this is the last time Michael will ever kiss him again. Geoff did not want it to be the last time.

Geoff almost let out a whimper when Michael pulled away. Michael grinned at him again, cracking a white smile that lit up his whole face even more. Geoff felt one of Michael’s hands on his cheek. He smiled back at Michael, staring at him again. He became lost like that, taking in every stroke of poor yellow light on Michael’s cheeks, every splattered freckle across the bridge of his nose. He almost jumped when Michael broke the silence.  

 **  
** “I figured it out, Geoff.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember you can contact me on tumblr with any comments/criticisms/etc [here](http://butcherface.tumblr.com) !!!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geoff isn't good at talking to people in general, much less texting the student he's been seeing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry for not updating lmaoooo life has been busy. too many projects going on.

_ Christmas, 1998 _

 

“Sweetie, come on. Just smile for one picture with everyone.” His mother smiled brightly at him, a hand on his shoulder. 

 

“Alright, alright, mom. One picture.” He smiled back at her as she excitedly clapped her hands and grouped everyone together. His stepfather, his cousins, his aunts and uncles. His brother hugged him tightly, pressing their heads together. They all wrapped arms around each other and grinned wide. His grandmother made sure everyone was in the shot and counted down. As she finally hit zero, the flash went off and a flimsy white piece of plastic came out of the camera. 

 

His mother took the plastic and held it, eagerly waiting to see how the image came out. 

 

Several moments passed, everybody had begun to go back to cleaning wrapping paper or washing dishes from dinner. He heard an exasperated sigh from his mother. When he looked up at her, she was frowning at him. 

 

“Geoff, you blinked!” 

 

\----

 

_ Thanksgiving morning, 2015 _

 

Geoff smiled fondly at the polaroid, rubbing his finger over the image. It was the last Christmas that all of them were together. His eyes were indeed closed, blinking at the exact moment the photo was taken. The Christmas tree and piles of wrapping paper were in the background. He let his eyes drag over every person in the picture, they all had ugly sweaters on. 

 

Geoff’s mother was smiling wide, her eyes crinkling up on the edges. They all looked so happy. 

 

Geoff’s phone went off and snapped him out of that train of thought. He set the photo down on the kitchen table and checked to see who the message was from. 

 

**Michael 8:43AM**

**iMessage**

**Slide to view**

 

Geoff grinned and unlocked his phone to read the message. It was amazing Michael had willingly woke up this early. 

 

_ Michael 8:43AM _

_ hey asshole happy turkey slaughter day!!!  _

 

Geoff inhaled softly, taking a sip of his coffee. He snickered at Michael’s lack of even  _ attempting _ proper grammar. He thought about what to write for a reply.

 

_ You too, Michael. I hope your Thanksgiving is well.|    _

 

He frowned at his phone, tapping backspace a number of times. 

 

_ You too, Michael.  _

 

He gave himself an affirmative huff before sending the text. Three dots appeared in the bottom left of his phone screen almost immediately. 

 

_ Michael 8:45AM _

_ water u doing today u old bitch??  _

 

_ Michael 8:45AM _

_ haha water _

 

_ Michael 8:46AM  _

_ sorry i called u an old bitch _

 

Geoff smiled at the series of messages, trying to figure out a good reply that wouldn’t make him seem like an old bitch--a lonely one at that. He didn’t have the money to fly back south to Alabama, so he would be spending Thanksgiving alone. Burnie was back south in Texas with his family, so even eating there was out of the question. If Michael found out about that, Geoff wasn’t sure what he’d do. 

 

_ Not sure yet. What are your plans?| _

 

He looked over the message. He hoped that was vague enough--that Michael wouldn’t get any ideas. He hoped so, at least. 

 

\---

 

Michael frowned at the lack of enthusiasm radiating from the messages Geoff sent. He seemed too distant, too far away. 

 

_ ray and gav are inviting people over and we gonna have a lit as hell dinner| _

 

He grinned at the sounds of his roommates bustling through the house. They all sounded happy, laughing and the occasional loud bang or crash. 

 

_ Goeff 9:01AM _

_ Sorry, but what does ‘lit as Hell’ mean? _

 

Michael giggled at his phone, enjoying Geoff’s confusion at the term. He really was an old bitch. 

 

_ its gonna b fun. wish u could come _

 

He thought for a second, before typing out another message. 

 

_ scratch that. none of us can cook even a lil| _

 

After he hit send, he heard Ray loudly calling his name and quickly went to go check on what was going on. 

 

\---

 

Geoff felt his fingers tremble at the sight of the words. 

 

Wish you could come. 

 

He set his phone down away from him, pulling his mug of coffee closer and taking a long sip. Did Michael really feel this way? Did he really wish Geoff was there? 

 

Surely that would be too awkward--their teacher showing up at God damned Thanksgiving dinner. It was too early to be talking like that. They hadn’t even decided what they were. 

 

Geoff loved the way it felt to kiss Michael. He was warm and tasted like mint gum. Spearmint, not Wintergreen. Both of them were cold, the snow falling on them. Michael’s skin still felt warm, despite the bite of the winter against his face. 

 

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” Geoff rubbed his face with one hand, shaking the memory from his mind. He glanced over at the old polaroid, colors faded from the years. 

 

_ Maybe I’ll teach you how to cook one day. It’s a basic life skill, Michael.| _

 

He hit send before even giving himself a chance to read over the text. Michael wanted him. Even after the distance, the mistake over the trip, the kiss outside of school. 

 

Michael was taking a longer time to respond than usual. Geoff felt his heartbeat heavy in his chest, crawling up his throat. He’d said something wrong. He’d pissed him off--upset him. Geoff got up to refill his coffee and heard a ding from his phone. 

 

_ Michael 9:10 AM _

_ u can cook and draw??? is there anything u cant do?? _

 

_ mayb u can teach ray n gav how 2 cook. just had 2 go sort out the dumbest thing _

 

Geoff smiled wide at the messages. He let his curiosity take over and decided to ask what the thing was, even if he may regret it. 

 

_ Should I even ask?| _

 

He let himself relax, taking a deep breath. 

 

_ Michael 9:12AM _

_ gav didnt kno that stuffing is wet bread. had 2 tell him that we are still making it. ray was hurt that gav didnt want any _

 

Geoff read the text over and over, trying to comprehend and imagine the chaos going on in the building full of 20 year olds. 

 

_ I can’t even honestly formulate a response to that.| _

 

Geoff frowned and thought. He had one thing he had to say to Michael, no matter how scary and anxiety inducing it was. 

 

\---

 

_ Goeff 9:14 AM _

_ I never told you that I was sorry. For kissing you at the lake.  _

 

Michael knit his eyebrows together in confusion. 

  
_ geoff why would u b sorry?? it was nice. so was the other night at the school. we shuld do that more often _


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geoff just needed time to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> longest chapter yet. Hope you enjoy!

It was loud. That was all that Geoff could think, keeping his eyes locked on the TV. He took a long sip of gross beer--the cold glass was comforting. He set it back onto the napkin and kept his attention drawn to the bland sports games flashing. He didn't know who was playing. He didn't even care enough to know what they were playing, it was just a distraction.

It was a distraction from that girl who kept eyeing him, from the guy on the other side of the bar that was doing the same. It was to stop thinking about Michael. Maybe he would give one of his admirers a show--maybe. He took another sip and re-rolled his sleeves.

His flannel was plain, light, orange reds plaid over white. Black jeans. Not too far off from his work attire. It was just less stuffy--yet, even now, he felt too hot. Too closed in. People were watching Geoff, eyeing him like an animal.

He thought that going to some shit bar slightly outside downtown would help him escape. He needed to get away from Michael.

The boy had come over and they had fallen into Geoff’s bed, grabbing hands and sweet kisses. It was wonderful, and Geoff loved every second he was allowed to touch Michael’s bare skin. Every single moment he got to run his mouth all over Michael and take in every little whimper he’d made.

Another sip of the beer. It was absolutely disgusting. He just didn't feel like paying for anything else. Maybe he’d stop by a liquor store on the way home and get a bottle of cheap vodka.

He was a wreck. He knew Michael was still in his bed, he’d gotten up and left him there. Left him to go ignore his morals--or rather, remember them. Michael kissed Geoff like it was the last thing he’d ever do. He traced his fingers over every single line that was displayed on Geoff’s skin.

The bartender, a kind man with an impressive beard, gave him a quick tap on the hand and nodded towards the direction of Geoff’s male admirer.

“He wants to know if you want a better drink.” The bartender had a low but gentle voice. Geoff followed his line of sight and took a good look at the other man. He busted out a stifled laugh. He’d felt the eyes, but hardly recognized the guy.

“Tell Ryan to come over and talk to me.” Geoff smiled and took another sip of his beer. Bartender went over and said something to Ryan, which caused Ryan to move over directly next to Geoff.

“Howdy.” Ryan said sheepishly. He was wearing a bland t-shirt and jeans with a red baseball hat.

“Dude,” Geoff laughed. “You look like somebody's dad. I didn't even recognize you. Thought you didn't drink?” Ryan nodded.

“I don't. Cranberry juice.” Ryan pointed a finger gun at his small red drink. Geoff gave a small ‘ah’ and nodded.

“Why’re you in a bar, then?” Geoff furrowed his eyebrows. It was a reasonable question. “By yourself?”

“Honestly,” Ryan gave a small shrug. “I was just bored. Ray is busy.” Geoff didn't let his confused expression go away.

“Ray?” Ryan nodded.

“The guy I’ve been seeing.” Ryan took a sip of his juice and spun slightly on the stool. The gesture was so childish and light, it made Geoff smile.

“Huh. Michael’s roommate is named Ray. Small world.” Color drained from Ryan’s face, causing a sly smile from Geoff. “I am not one to judge, man.” Geoff took another sip. He thought about Michael.

Michael was warm. He had smooth skin. Toned muscles. His stomach was flat, the strong V of his hips bold in his skin. God, Geoff hated himself.

“He are things going with him?” Ryan asked. Great. Awesome. Just what Geoff wanted to talk about.

“He's in my bed. Right now. Asleep. And nude.” Geoff muttered, turning back to the suddenly-very-interesting baseball game. Ryan whistled. “Shut it.” He hissed.

“What did you do?” Ryan’s turn to smile now.

“Michael. And then, here I am, sitting in a bar by myself, moping about it.” Geoff moved his hands wildly. Ryan snorted at the answer.

“Why, exactly, are you moping about it?” Ryan crossed his arms and leaned on the bar.

“I-”Geoff thought for a second. “You know why.” Ryan nodded.

“Honestly, get over it. You like the kid. He likes you. That's what matters, not what's generally frowned upon.” Ryan seemed sure of his words. He gave himself a nod of confirmation, taking a sip of cranberry juice.

“I can lose my job, Ryan.” Geoff said quietly, leaning closer to his friend.

“So can I, buddy. My advice is go back to him. You have no business here.” Ryan’s face was serious, pressing his lips together and furrowing his eyebrows.

Geoff knew he was right. Ryan was absolutely right. He pulled out his wallet and tossed a ten on the counter, clapping Ryan on the shoulder before leaving.

He felt himself breathing harder than he should have been. He started up his car and pulled out of the parking lot. Go back to him. No business. It was dark, almost seemed darker than it was before. Geoff looked at the clock on his radio and saw it was around 11. He cursed at himself the entire ride back.

\---

Geoff entered his apartment and tossed his keys on the counter. He unbuttoned his shirt and made his way around to change into sweatpants. He sunk down into the bed, admiring how peaceful Michael was.

Michael moved with a groan, opening his heavy eyes and looking at Geoff. He gave a gentle tug at Geoff’s undershirt.

“Where’d ya go?” Geoff's heart twisted. Michael’s voice was clouded with sleep and it was god damn adorable. “Take y’re shirt off. Annoying..” He kept slurring his words together, eyes fluttering shut as he talked.

Geoff pulled his shirt off and tossed it somewhere in the dark, laying down next to Michael. The boy was immediately back asleep on Geoff’s chest, arm secure around his waist. Geoff let his hand fall over Michael’s shoulders--giving a gentle squeeze.

Go back to him.   
No business being at the bar.

Ryan was right.

\---

The morning came, the sun aggressively shining in Geoff’s face. Fantastic. He rubbed his face with one hand, noticing a heavy weight on his chest. He looked down to find Michael’s brown eyes staring at him, flickering with excitement.

“You know, I think when you're sleeping is the only time you don't look stressed or confused about something.” Michael grinned. Geoff took a minute to remember why Michael was here, sleeping on him, on a Sunday.

He remembered pretty quickly when Michael was straddling him, kissing him. He inhaled sharply, running his hands up Michael’s bare legs. He didn't know how he’d moved so fast that he was on top of Geoff.

Geoff suddenly remember that Michael was very, very naked and he looked down. Michael laughed.

“Should I put clothes on?” The question was innocent. Michael’s eyes were combing over Geoff, and a decision had to be made. Geoff’s voice was rough from the sleep, and his reply came out low and almost a growl.

“No.” Geoff grabbed a solid hold on Michael’s hips and flipped them over so he was on top. He kissed Michael, rough and hard. Michael whimpered in return, grabbing at Geoff’s chest.

Geoff started kissing down Michael’s neck, getting pleased noises in return. Michael’s legs were wrapping around Geoff, pulling him closer. Michael was definitely enjoying this--if the hard on pressing against Geoff was anything to go by.

“Pants. Off. Please.” Michael’s voice was quiet and needy. Geoff pulled off of him and struggled to get his pants off. Michael grabbed him and flipped them again, Michael sitting between Geoff’s legs.

Michael pulled Geoff’s pants off, tossing them somewhere on the floor. He stopped and looked over Geoff, taking in every inch of the man. They were both breathing heavily--lust clouding their eyes. Geoff’s hard-on was making itself known against the fabric of his boxers.

Geoff sat up a little and they crashed into each other again, mouths working. Geoff let out a small noise and pulled his mouth off of Michael’s for a second.

“What do you want to do, Michael?” His voice was breathy and heavy. It sent shivers down Michael’s spine. Michael rested his forehead against Geoff’s shoulder. He leaned back upwards and pressed his mouth next to Geoff’s ear.

“I want you to fuck me, Geoff. And I don't want you to hold back.” Michael whispered. He felt Geoff take a sharp intake of breath, letting out an almost silent noise. It felt like seconds of them breathing, nothing else in the room.

They’d had sex the night before--but it wasn't like this. It was just silence and greedy hands, nothing more. Geoff grabbed Michael’s hips and gently laid him on the bed before vanishing into the bathroom. Michael tapped his fingers impatiently on the sheets. He let the other hand wander down, touching himself lightly.

He hadn’t payed attention to just how hard he was, aching to be touched. He let out a small moan when he wrapped a hand around himself, finally relieving some of the pressure. He closed his eyes, continuing to slowly stroke himself. Michael wondered what was taking Geoff so long.

He opened his eyes and Geoff was standing there, a small bottle in one hand. His eyebrows were furrowed, mouth hanging open. Michael smiled, not stopping. He watched something snap inside Geoff. The man set the bottle right next to the bed, crawling between Michael’s legs.

“Let me help you with that.” Michael didn't even have time to process the words before his hand was removed and Geoff gave a bold lick up the underside of his dick--and then took the whole thing in his mouth.

Michael groaned loudly, eyes rolling back. He took a handful of Geoff’s hair in his hand, encouraging him to keep doing whatever it was he was doing. Geoff’s tongue was doing incredible things, pushing Michael quickly as Geoff’s head bobbed up and down.

“Ge-Geoff--” Michael couldn't even speak. Geoff pulled his mouth off and Michael took in the sight, a string of spit from Geoff’s mouth. His lips red and puffed. “As much as I'm enjoying this, if you keep being too good at it I won't last much longer.” Geoff nodded and kissed Michael’s hips, paying attention to the deep V line. He worked his way up until he was kissing Michael again, softer this time.

Michael palmed Geoff through his boxers, yanking at the waistband. He was met with an affirmative noise, taking that as his yes to reach in the fabric and grab Geoff’s erection. Geoff let out a soft moan in response, grabbing Michael’s face and kissing him. He started gently thrusting himself into Michael’s hand.

“These are annoying.” Michael hissed, yanking at the waistband again. Geoff nodded, pulling them off and kicking them away awkwardly. Michael reached both hands around Geoff’s neck, pulling him back down. “Please, fuck me already.” He whispered.

Geoff nodded and swallowed hard, grabbing the small bottle from beside the bed and squeezing a generous amount on his fingers. He leaned over Michael again, slowly inserting a finger into him. Michael gasped, grabbing Geoff’s hair. Geoff began to slowly work Michael open, curling his finger and trying to find that spot.

“More.” Was Michael’s breathy demand--pushing himself on Geoff’s hand. Geoff complied, inserting another finger. He moved his hand faster, other hand pumping Michael slowly. Michael was shaking below him, and suddenly let out a loud groan.

There it was.

Geoff aimed for that spot again. He was rewarded with another loud noise. Michael’s dick was leaking and twitching, his head thrown back and body flushed. Geoff could feel his own erection begging to be taken care of.

“Dick. Please--please.” Michael’s voice was broken. He was desperate and needy. “Geoff.” He pulled Geoff closer to him. “I swear to god, get inside of me. I'm begging here.” Geoff nodded and kissed Michael’s jaw.

He leaned back on his knees and pulled his fingers out, greeted by an unpleasant groan from Michael. He grabbed the bottle and begun to slick himself up, feeling amazed at the even slightest touch that he was giving himself. He stared at Michael, remembering what this looked like.

Michael was sprawled out on the bed, flushed and sweaty. He was breathing hard, watching Geoff back. Geoff admired the way the light was falling into Michael, becoming part of him. He was glowing in the morning sunlight, so unbelievably beautiful. Stray freckles spread across his body. Art.

Michael whined again and Geoff turned his attention back to the task at hand. He pulled Michael’s hips up--Michael eagerly complied and wrapping his legs around Geoff.

Geoff slowly pushed inside of Michael. Michael’s face fell, groaning incoherent words. Geoff let out a soft moan, pushing himself all the way inside of Michael. He leaned over him, breathing hard.

“You feel fucking amazing.” He growled, kissing Michael again. Their teeth clashed--Michael pushing himself back down on Geoff.

“So do you. Please move.” Michael muttered against Geoff’s lips, grabbing at his hair again. His request was instantly filled, feeling Geoff move slowly at first. He worked up to a steady pace, whispering a string of noises that didn't make too much sense. Michael clawed at Geoff’s back, enjoying the way everything was feeling.

“I-Jesus, Michael.” Geoff huffed, pushing harder. He was aiming for that spot again. He thrust harder, using one hand to start pumping Michael again.

“Oh--oh, Geoff-” Michael moaned loudly. Geoff knew he hit the jackpot. He thrust harder this time, hitting the spot again. He knew at this pace he probably wasn't going to last much longer himself, and he wanted to make Michael feel good.

“What is it, Michael?” Geoff whispered, hitting Michael’s prostate over and over again. Michael’s entire body was shaking, unable to deal with the amount of pleasure coursing through his body.

“Geoff- I'm gonna-” Michael’s statement was cut off as he groaned louder this time. “Geoff-” Geoff kept thrusting, kept pumping Michael, leading him through the orgasm. Michael’s face went slack, eyes rolling back. He moaned Geoff’s name again and shuddered, long white streaks coming out over his stomach. His body tightened around Geoff, and it was almost too much. He pulled out and let Michael come back to earth.

Geoff slowly stroked himself, watching Michael come back. The boy looked up at him, chest heaving.

“I-oh--my god,” Michael was out of breath. “Okay, wow.” Michael’s eyes moved down and he saw Geoff hadn’t finished yet. He frowned, making a motion for Geoff to lie down. Geoff sighed and nodded, letting Michael get on top of him despite clearly still being shaky. Michael moved Geoff’s hands away slowly and replaced them with his own, slowly stroking Geoff while planting soft kisses all over his chest.

He moved down between Geoff’s legs, quickly taking him into his mouth. Geoff hooked a leg over Michael’s shoulder, grabbing at his hair. It was only moments of Michael’s tongue and mouth and everything before Geoff could feel the warmth pooling in his gut.

“Michael-I'm gonna--” Michael didn't stop. His head still bobbing, eagerly watching Geoff’s expressions. Geoff felt all the tension break, shuddering as the orgasm raked through his muscles, crawling over his nerves. He let out a string of noises that he couldn't really process.

He released Michael’s hair, watching as Michael sat up and swallowed, licking his lips. Michael fell next to him, curling up against his body. Geoff wrapped an arm around Michael, staring at the ceiling.

“That was absolutely the best thing that's ever happened to me.” Michael sighed happily, snuggling closer. They were both hot and sticky, but it didn't seem to matter.

“We should do that again sometime.” Geoff smiled lazily at the ceiling. He was met with an affirmative grunt before they both drifted off into unconsciousness

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember kids. always use a condom.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings are generally complicated and Geoff is a little incompetent with them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff fluff fluff

> _"Oh no, what if I never knew your name?_  
>  Oh my god, the thought's insane  
> What if your love is not the same  
> As it seems inside my brain?  
> What if you're not really in my sheets?  
> Oh, just the thought gives me the creeps"
> 
> _The Thoughts That Give Me the Creeps - Hellogoodbye_

 

“How much do you know about performance art?” Geoff asked, scribbling on a notepad laid atop his desk. Michael was sitting across from him and looked up, confused expression dominating his features.

“Elaborate?” The question was loud in the studio, solid. It refused to echo against the amount of supplies, desks, and tools.

“You know, people doing really weird shit and calling it art.” Geoff lifted his hand off of the notepad, examining the drawing for a few seconds. He immediately started scribbling down again.

“Geoff, I know literally nothing.” Michael let out a small laugh at the end of his sentence. The use of his first name sparked something in Geoff’s chest, a fire igniting at the sound of the laugh. He gripped the pen a little tighter, swallowing the feeling and continued to talk.

“Like, okay. There was this one dude who was laying under a floor and watching people walk over him. He was completely nude, totally jacking it, right?” Michael’s confusion grew into concern. Geoff smiled at the sight--barely in his line of vision, the warmth blooming in his chest again. “He was moaning sexual shit. People paid for this to happen to them, to walk over a guy telling them to do things.”

Michael’s mouth opened and closed. He looked like he was struggling to formulate a response. Geoff looked up from his scribbling for a second and met Michael’s eyes for a brief moment.

_I love you._

The words ghosted on his lips, begging to escape his tongue. He kept his mouth firmly shut, refusing to let Michael hear those words. They were not right. They shouldn't even appear.

“I--what?” Michael finally muttered, yanking Geoff back to reality. Geoff turned back to his drawing, letting the scribbled later over each other.

“I promise, dude. It's weird as dicks.” Michael was quiet after that, sucking in the silence and trying to process what Geoff just explained to him.

Geoff continued drawing, the sound of his pen furiously moving against the paper was the only noise in the large room. He could hear Michael breathing, but tried to ignore it. Tried to ignore the other body in this room, in this studio. The studio decorated with artists that he’d taught the other body about, full of paintings for the other body.

_I love you._

Geoff gripped the pen tighter again. This time, stopping his scribbling and dropping the pen. He pushed himself away from the desk and stood up, ignoring Michael’s gaze. He walked up to the newest poster on his walls, staring at it.

“Egon Schiele.” The painting was a self portrait of the artist. Complicated swatches blurring together into a face. A pale tan background with thin lines.

“Yeah. We discussed him yesterday.” Yesterday. Geoff winced at Michael’s tone. It was gentle, too gentle. He wanted to talk about yesterday.

“Hm. Must have forgotten.” Geoff bit his tongue. It was awkward. Horribly awkward. “Did you know there was a girl version of that performance guy?” Don't look at him. You'll be fine if you don't look at him, Geoff.

“You drew me.” Michael whispered, fingers tracing over the lines in the notepad. The lines filled out his face, darker lines as a foundation for his jaw. He was face up, some far off light shining into his eyes.

Geoff let out a small breath, releasing the tension from his chest.

“Yeah.” He turned and watched Michael, watched his fingers trace over the lines. He crossed his arms and watched how delicate the motion was.

“It's...really good.” Geoff smiled, caving into the flame licking against his rib cage. Michael looked back up at him, brown eyes wide.

“I've drawn you other times, too. You're a nice subject.” Michael’s face turned red, blush taking over every aspect of his features.

“You--have?” Michael seemed too surprised, barely able to grasp the words. Geoff laughed and moved back to the desk. He leaned over Michael, reaching over him to get the notepad. “These, these are just doodles. I have better ones back at my apartment.”

Michael's breath hitched at the close contact, the continuous switching on and off of barriers with Geoff. Geoff rested his chin on Michael’s shoulder, holding the notepad in front of both of them.

“You might be uncomfortable bending like that.” Michael snorted, planting a sweet kiss on Geoff’s cheek. Geoff muttered something before pulling back and taking the notepad away, disappearing from Michael’s sight. Michael spun around to make sure Geoff wasn't trying to get distant again. The man had gone over to the lamp in the corner, by where he was painting when they met for the first time.

“Turn off the lights on your way over.” Geoff said, looking over his shoulder. He flicked on the lamp and sunk to the floor below it, leaving an empty space for Michael. Michael quickly wove around the stools and desks, flipping off all the lights and leaving the room dark except for the warm glow coming from the lamp. He went over towards Geoff, sliding down next to him. Geoff comfortingly wrapped an arm around Michael’s shoulder, pulling him close and resting the notepad on his lap.

Geoff flipped to the beginning, an ink drawing of street lamps and sidewalks. A building could be seen on the street, parked next to a million others.

“That's my building.” Michael breathed. He said it so lightly and carefully, so flattered by what Geoff had done. The soft laugh in his ears gave him chills.

“Yeah this--this is my college rule book of Michael. You inspire me.” He flipped to the next page, a pencil drawing of Michael staring at a wall. Michael looked closer and realized it was this studio, Michael staring at posters.

 _You inspire me._ The words rang in Geoff’s own bones, ringing still in his ears. The next few images were of Michael’s characters, of Michael drawing. Michael’s hands on top of Geoff’s desk.

“You really did all of these?” Michael asked, twisting around to look up at Geoff.

“Guess I did.” His smile was tired, eyes half shut as he looked back at Michael.

“Thank you.” Geoff felt himself tighten up and cursed himself. He knew his face would give away some pained expression, showing that his brain couldn't calm the fuck down for ten seconds.

“Geoff.” Michael pushed up and stared at him. Oh no.

“Look--I'm sorry, I just--” Geoff set the notebook aside and rubbed his eyes.

“Hey, chill, dude. It's all good. You just do this. You shut down out of nowhere and I don't get it. You take me on a trip to the lake and then avoid my presence for a few days. You kiss me and then act like the damn world is ending. You have sex with me--” Geoff closed his eyes and leaned his head back so it hit the wall. “--and this happens. It's like your brain is going haywire and can't make a choice.” Geoff groaned.

“Believe me. That's _exactly_ what it is.” He hissed, whacking his head again. “You just, do shit to me. I can lose my job, but here I am--showing you all these pictures I drew of you because you fascinate me so damn much.” He refused to open his eyes, to see the doe eyes Michael was probably making at him.

“I thought this would be good, and--please, do not misunderstand me here. It's great. What we do, these nights in the studio. It's all great. But it’s illegal. I wanted a friend because I was new here, moving all the way from fucking Alabama. I got…” He trailed off, opening his eyes and looking at his...partner. He gestured his hands over Michael. “...whatever you are at this point.”

“Why did you move here?” The question was innocent, Michael shifted so he was sitting cross legged and rested a hand on Geoff’s thigh while facing him.

“I feel like I answered this before.” Geoff snorted, keeping his hands crossed against his chest.

“‘Hot as dicks, racist as dicks, homophobic as dicks’” Michael mocked in his best impression of Geoff. “What's the real reason?” Geoff froze.

What did Geoff love more than deep romantic feelings conversations? Conversations about his traumatizing past definitely took number one.

“Don't do that.” Michael frowned at Geoff.

“Do what?” Geoff had no idea what Michael was talking about.

“You completely blank for a few seconds. It's like you're having an argument with yourself over every sentence that comes out.” Michael did not expect Geoff to laugh.

“You're hitting the nail on the head today, Michael.” Geoff felt the slight relaxation before immediately tensing up again.

“My parents...I moved because of my parents.” Geoff felt vulnerable like this. “They were...not terrible. But after my brother--they became kind of overbearing. Didn't want to lose the other one.” Michael nodded and gave his thigh a small squeeze, reassuring Geoff that it was okay. He was allowed.

“I can get that. Both sides. If you die, what the fuck? You know? But also, you can't crawl inside your child’s ass and expect them to be fine with it.” Geoff grinned and chuckled at Michael’s words.

_I love you._

Michael cursed the words, the thought. He knew that, he knew how he felt, but if he told Geoff it would be an absolute nightmare. The man couldn't have a single emotion for longer than 30 seconds without fighting it off for a different one. He settled for smiling back instead.

It could wait.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are always appreciated and make my day so much brighter


	13. Interlude.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do not ever break, no matter how far you are bent.

It was hard to cope with the feeling of waking up after a nightmare. Geoff didn’t think he’d ever get used to it. A thin layer of cold sweat always coated his skin, clinging to him and chilling him to the bones. His joints felt sticky. He couldn’t move without feeling as if there was some kind of lag on his life, anything he tried to do was set back a few seconds. Shooting out of sleep in hurried breaths, trying to calm yourself down and realize that you weren’t there--it was a dream. 

Geoff didn’t think anybody could ever get used to that. 

Except now he knew to take his pulse, practice breathing exercises. Remember that he was real, and the events of the dream were not. There was no use in trying to relive and recount something that had never even happened. 

Except--it did. He had to relive the same scenario over and over again, unable to stop it. The only difference was the people involved. His mother, Burnie, Ryan,  _ Michael.  _ The ones with Michael were always the worst, always so complicated and seemed to escape him despite the undeniable dread that coiled in the pit of his stomach. Michael died in his dreams. Nobody ever lived in his dreams. 

Sometimes it was brief, he didn’t have to suffer for long. Other times it was so long and drawn out that Geoff was too scared to sleep for days. Too scared to go through that moment again, those moments. They were fake stories, not real. But they still managed to follow him around like an ugly cloud--raining on his parade and finding a way to intrude upon him. He couldn’t walk through the hallway in his own apartment building. He couldn’t sit in a room alone for too long before he remembered what happens when he’s alone, those thoughts and those memories clouding him in the absolute worst ways imaginable. 

For now, Geoff would retain some kind of focus. Some kind of dignity in his mind. He’d continue to lecture students on art history, despite them all being in art history classes. He wouldn’t sugarcoat the immense history of the art world. He refused to hide the meaning behind the modern depiction of Jesus, he wouldn’t deny that most famous artists were gay. He wouldn’t deny that they were bitter people--horribly sheltered and alone. The only comfort they could find was throwing their mind onto a canvas, a wall--anything. A distraction, a way to show the world that they were fucking  _ suffering _ because they were without company. 

Geoff feared that sometimes he might become them. He had become them, locking himself in his apartments over numerous cities. Hiding from humanity, from the rest of the world. Nobody to criticize or judge him based on how he felt--how he painted, expressed, sketched. How he loved. He knew he had it in him, the ability to love another human being. He’d just decided against the choice of loving somebody else. It had never ended well. 

His wife had seen through his shell after three months, seeing what kind of a person Geoff really was. He was curled up and nasty and bitter--he was an artist, desperate for approval and affection from any human being willing to give him the slightest amount of that. She left with a shout and a slam of the front door, Geoff standing in the kitchen. He never stopped her. He let her run away, he let her give up. He had never even tried in the first place. He didn’t know how to love another person properly. He was too broken and busy battling himself that he didn’t know if he ever could bring himself to commit to another person. That person would see his scars, his wounds that were still open, those that were finally healing. They’d be able to count the days since he’d slept under his eyes, how many cups of coffee he’d drank that day, how many cigarettes had further shortened his life span that week. 

He was broken, he was alone, and he was better that way. He became a teacher so he could help people live a better life than he did, make better choices than him. He wanted to create a generation of artists that weren’t afraid to live with another person, who didn’t forget to eat. Artists who could take care of themselves, ones who weren’t depressed. He wanted to make them happier, a happier generation of artists. Get rid of the stigma that all of them were bitter and cold people. 

A stigma he couldn’t shake off himself. 

He’d tried over and over again, looking for some way to prevent it from happening. Searching everything he could for an answer to the nightmares. To seeing his brother die over and over again, to ignoring calls from his mother. He wanted to answer, to tell her that he was doing okay. He couldn’t lie to her like that again, not again--not since he left. He was supposed to be making himself better. 

Each time he saw Michael, those words ached to be released from his mouth. 

_ I love you.  _

They danced on his tongue as if it was made of hot coals. Begging for the pain to end, to just release. He didn’t know how long it would be until it slipped. Until he accepted that he’d done something he never, ever thought he’d do. He’d fallen for another person. He’d found love in a person who was willing to count those days without judging him for him, to tell him to slow down after the third cup. Michael was there to take his pulse and guide him through breathing exercises. Michael didn’t care that Geoff was so, so broken. Some part of Michael was broken too. 

_ I love you. _

The kid had moved from Jersey to Oregon, to change his whole life for the better. He avoided talking about the move, avoided talking about why he wouldn’t mention Meg. Michael had a lot of love to give, almost as much as Geoff. He wasn’t as broken--he was just homesick, unable to adjust to life away from his hometown. He was eager to get away from whatever plagued him back in highschool, whatever Gavin had done to earn his affections in the past. 

Michael was just as scared to love somebody as Geoff was. He was just as terrified to show those parts of himself to anyone, to let down the charismatic smile and look away from someone. Michael was so, so terrified--but, maybe that’s why they were so drawn to each other. Like moths to a flame, such a dangerous combination. Geoff couldn’t help himself as he grabbed onto the illuminating light that was Michael, that was his tan skin and light hair. He was art. He was a beautiful painting that was featured in museums. 

Geoff was different. He was rejected by anyone he was shown to, destroyed and repeatedly thrown out beyond belief. He was still art, yet to find someone who appreciates him. Michael appreciated him, he let his calloused fingers run over the ink that stained Geoff’s skin. He worshiped Geoff like he was an entire god damn museum. 

They were two different kinds of art. 

Geoff looked up from his crossed hands, from the twiddling of his thumbs. Michael was staring somewhere other than Geoff, following the lines of posters lining the walls. 

Two different kinds of art. 

Love was toxic to Geoff. It rained through his life and destroyed any positive emotions he had. He should never be allowed to love another person. He shouldn’t be allowed to let another person view how hurt he is, how the nightmares have left holes in his mind where his memories used to be. 

Michael was different. He stared around, eyes so bright and young and  _ fascinated.  _ He was so eager to learn about the world, so excited to see what was in store for him. Geoff watched the freckles on his face and smiled fondly. 

“I love you, Michael.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is coming close to it's end. I'd like to thank everyone who's kept up with it over the past 8 or 9 months, I am glad I had the honor of sharing it with you.   
> Comments are so, so appreciated and keep me going. Thank you.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's another short one but i needed to get it out of the way because the last chapter is so huge. thank you everyone.

When the words slipped from Geoff’s mouth, Michael didn’t know how to respond. He felt every muscle in his body strain and stiffen instantly, freezing where he was. It was the absolute last thing he would have expected Geoff to say to him. It was terrifying, just three words that managed to stop everything--freeze even where his eyes were. Completely locked onto a poster. 

He didn’t know what to feel, how to think. Just staring at the picture of the woman with the goat--lost as to what to say. Everything had just changed. Geoff started muttering a long line of swears, lifting himself from his chair and pacing away from the desk. Michael forced his eyes to unlock from the poster, to look at Geoff. 

He’d gone to the door of the studio, hand trembling in front of the handle. MIchael opened his mouth to stop him but couldn’t bring himself to fucking say anything. It angered him. He wanted Geoff to stay, to know he wasn’t alone--he was right there along with him. 

After moving to Oregon from Jersey, everything had been different. He met so few people he managed to actually enjoy being around. He never made a good first impression--it was always being too loud, too easily frustrated. Too  _ something. _ And now here was Geoff Ramsey, a man who was way too old for him. A man who swallowed himself in a painting and consumed himself with pity and guilt over their relationship. Geoff Ramsey was a man who wanted so desperately nothing more than everyone around him to be happy and enjoy themselves, to grow up as happy people. 

Yet, he could never follow his own advice. Michael took a deep breath as Geoff’s tattooed fingers wrapped around the handle. Michael knew so much about Geoff, had learned so much in the past five months. This ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous, person who thrived on coffee and talked in his sleep. His tutor who was scared of his own nightmares and snakes, but not much else. A human being that cared more about other human beings than he could ever even imagine to care about himself--under any circumstances. 

He’d managed to teach Michael more in five months than Michael had ever learned in 18 years of living with his parents. 13 years of public education. Geoff taught Michael that it’s okay to have feelings about things, it was always an option. Even if that feeling was fear--you are allowed to be afraid. Michael knew Geoff was afraid. God, did he know Geoff was afraid. Michael was so afraid too, completely on his own at this point. 

Michael couldn’t lean on his roommates--his best friends. They had lives, they had people who needed them more than Michael did. He would just play his guitar alone in his room, sketch things that reminded him of Geoff. A funny mustache birthday card, a small kitten. Anything Geoff might have told Michael about--it was all held in some part of Michael’s brain, waiting to be used. 

He needed Geoff. Oh, he knew he needed Geoff. When those words had slipped past Geoff’s lips, Michael froze. But he knew he froze because he felt the same way, and now he was going after him. The school was dark. Nobody else was there, Michael slipping through the hallways and after the shadow of Geoff. He didn’t really remember when he’d decided to get up and go after him--feet were pounding against the tile and carpet as he chased after him. 

He came to the front entrance, stopping to stare out of the windowed door. Geoff was there, staring at something far off. A cigarette was dangling from his lips. HIs shirt was untucked, black--coated in tiny flecks of brightly colored paint. There was even a large smear, as if he was trying to wipe it off. Michael stared at him, not daring to move. Watching Geoff exist. 

It was completely surreal and unlike anything else Michael had seen with him, because there was no act. He wasn’t forcing a smile or throwing wild hand gestures to amplify his point. He was standing there in the warm glow of the streetlight by the door. He was existing, that was all. He wasn’t struggling--at least, not enough to be shown. Michael couldn’t see the war going on in Geoff’s head, the thoughts trying to outbid each other. All he could see was an artist standing outside in the snow without a fucking jacket on. In early December. In Oregon. 

Michael looked down at his own hoodie. He looked up at Geoff, whose arms were crossed. He hadn’t seen Michael yet, still staring so far away. Michael wanted to know where he was looking, what he could possibly be seeing. Michael unzipped his jacket and pulled it off his arms, holding it tightly in a fist before pushing against the door. 

At the sound of the click, Geoff’s head had snapped towards Michael. The cold air hit his face instantly--burning against his warm cheeks. His breath was visible, aggressive puffs going alongside the smoke from Geoff’s cigarette. He walked all the way out and held the jacket out to Geoff, pressing it against his chest. 

“It’s cold, asshole. Put on a jacket.” Michael said, to which Geoff stared at him dumbly for several moments before nodding. He slipped the cigarette firmly between his lips and shrugged the jacket on. It was large, lined with wool. It had always been so big on Michael, but it fit Geoff perfectly. He nodded at Michael and went back to staring at nothing. Whatever it was, it was miles away from them. 

Michael stared. Geoff’s cheeks were rosy and his nose was too, the cold biting against his face. Michael watched as the smoke and his breath clouded the air. Michael finally understood what Geoff had meant when he had been muttering about Michael being a work of art, calling him beautiful as his hands traced over every inch of skin that covered his body. 

Geoff was a work of art, too. He was rough on the exterior--completely not understandable, vague and possibly even hideous to some people. However, upon coming to know him--Michael had seen past that. He saw every cup of coffee and every brush stroke that had come into creating Geoff. He understood the piece standing in front of him. It was beautiful. 

It was also fucking cold. He took a step closer to Geoff, snuggling closer and laying his head against his chest. Geoff sighed and rested an arm around Michael. He flicked away the cigarette butt and moved the other arm around Michael too. Michael slid his arms inside the jacket and around Geoff’s waist. He was happy, warm. Everything was okay here. He knew that now. 

“I love you too, you fucking moron.” Michael muttered into the fabric of Geoff’s shirt. Geoff held his breathe for a moment before burying his face into Michael’s hair. 

“I know. I know, Michael.” He whispered, holding onto Michael. He couldn’t let him go. He was just so fucking scared that maybe, just maybe--this wasn’t going to work. He couldn’t get left again. He needed Michael, needed him to stay. He didn’t want to go anywhere without Michael.    
Michael breathed in the way Geoff smelled, like cigarette smoke and paint. He leaned back and kissed Geoff, pulling him down to meet his lips. Michael didn’t want Geoff to leave either. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading. remember, comments are what keep me writing and i reply to every single one that i can. the next chapter is going to be long, and I don't know when i'm gonna be able to finish it but. Thank you again.


	15. dial tones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's better to let some things go.

> _ I'm getting more of what I've always wanted _ _   
>  _ _ But becoming less of who I've ever been _ _   
>  _ _ 'Cause I promised myself I'd never hurt you and I did _ _   
>  _ _ If you can't trust a liar, how can you trust me again? _ _   
>  _ _ I'm running out of ways to say I'm sorry _ _   
>  _ _   
>  _ _ Am I all that you never wanted? _ _   
>  _ _ Or has it been so long that you've forgotten? _ _   
>  _ __ All we ever share are dial tones
> 
> _ Take your caution or take your chances _ _   
>  _ _ I'll make you run and break it in the same breath _ _   
>  _ _ All we ever share are dial tones _
> 
>  

_ \-- _

 

_ This is Geoff. You know how this goes, right?--beep. _

 

“Can I come over soon? It's been awhile--weird for you to not pick up. Call me back, aight? Love you.”

 

\---

 

Geoff put a pot of water on the stove and immediately felt like something was off--something always felt off. It was early, the sun just breaking through the windows and reflecting off the hardwood floor of the apartment. Something smelled foul. He just couldn’t seem to find where it was coming from. The entire 500 square foot space reeked of it. 

An obnoxious beep told him that his coffee was ready. He grabbed a mug from the cupboard and poured himself some, taking a long sip and appreciating the bitter taste of the liquid. He had burned his tongue immediately, swallowing hard. Geoff paused to stare at his hand holding the cup. His hands were so thickly tattooed that it was a stark contrast to the rather plain, white manner of the mug. It was something he had never really looked at before. 

He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was definitely wrong. No, not wrong--off. Just, something wasn’t right. Not exactly wrong, though. That stench was creeping it’s way into his nostrils over the coffee. Something must have died under the oven. Geoff set the mug down with another exasperated sigh. He turned the stove off and moved the pot to the counter. He pulled the stove out, wincing at the sound against the tile. 

Geoff squeezed behind the stove and squatted down to look around. The thing was definitely here, whatever it was. The smell was stronger than ever. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and flicked on the flashlight to get a better look. He needed to clean, it was horrid back here. It took about three minutes to locate the source of the smell. 

It was a mouse. A small brown mouse. Curled up and motionless. 

Geoff quickly disposed of the animal and moved the stove back. The sound against the tile was just as terrible, a long scratching noise. He grabbed his coffee and moved to sit down on his bed, propping himself against the wall next to the window. Geoff didn’t even bother to put the water back on, his appetite was long gone. He stared out the window, trying to figure out some way to appreciate the sunrise over the city. 

The creature was miniscule, probably only had lived for a few months. That didn’t stop Geoff from being shaken over it. He thought to himself, thinking about how easy it is for anything to die. Death was simple. He frowned hard, edges of his mouth turning. Quietly, he raised his mug and did an invisible toast to the mouse. 

“Here’s to you, buddy. Hope it was good while you had it.” He took a sip of his coffee, closing his eyes. “Mortality is fucked.” 

A knock at the door startled him from his thoughts. He pushed himself up to open the door, knowing it was Ryan. Geoff weaved through the half-packed boxes on the floor on his way to the source of the knocking. He opened the door with a smile and invited Ryan in. 

Ryan was already dressed, armed with a roll of bubble wrap and tape in Walmart bags.

“Where do we start?” 

 

\---

 

_ This is Geoff. You know how this goes, right?--beep. _

 

“We still on for tonight? I don't know if you're busy or something. Call me. Please. Something.”

 

\---

 

Something had been odd about Geoff lately. Well, more odd than Geoff normally was. Michael tapped his fingers on the desk while Burns talked. His other hand held his pen to his lip as he absentmindedly chewed on it. 

The large chalkboard in the front of the room was completely covered in a mix of equations, all neatly lined up and numbered. Burns was pointing to each equation and explaining them thoroughly, but Michael couldn’t hear a single word coming out of his mouth. His lips were moving and sound was definitely coming out--just not words. It was complete nonsense. 

Michael stopped trying to listen at some point, deciding to pull his sketchbook out of his bag and find something different to focus on. He flipped to an older page and smiled fondly at the drawing of Mogar. Michael hunched over his desk and started doing different expressions in the free space of the page. He made sure to highlight Mogar’s sharp canines in some of the doodles with hard, dark lines.

At some point, all of the students around him had gotten up and begun to leave. Michael looked up to see Burns staring down at him, one eyebrow raised. He didn’t look particularly angry, but he didn’t look exactly thrilled to be there.

“I--uh, yes, Professor?” Michael mumbled, scrambling to shut his small book and shoved it into his bag. Burns gave a small huff of laughter and crossed his arms, leaning against a separate desk. He inhaled sharply, and Michael’s gut twisted. 

“Geoff teach you some of that?” Michael froze and stared up at Burns with wide eyes. His mouth fell open a bit and closed again. “It’s okay, Jones. I actually want to ask you about something related to him.” 

One last student finally raced out of the room, taking the rushed sound of packing and footsteps with him. Michael stared at Burns in silence--waiting for him to say something further. He swallowed hard, leaning back in his seat and focusing his attention back on the pen in his hands. Michael flipped it around and twirled it between his fingers. 

“Have you heard from him lately? Can’t seem to get the ass to answer his phone.” Burns let out another huff of laughter. Michael set the pen down and turned to look at his professor again. 

“Not for a few days. We’re supposed to meet up tonight, though.” Michael tried to keep the nervous pitch out of his voice, putting forth his attention to keeping it even. He felt his nerves going haywire, his brain was screaming to get out of this conversation. 

“Hm. He’s been acting a little odd. I haven’t seen him at work, either.” Burns’ eyebrows furrowed together at his nose, skin aggressively wrinkling together in confusion. Michael frowned up at him. Geoff hadn’t missed work all year. Even if he was in a terrible mood and looked like hell, he always managed to show up. Geoff loved his students, and he loved teaching. Art was his life, it would always be his life. 

 

\---

 

_ This is Geoff. You know how this goes, right?--beep. _

 

“Hey, you sick or something? It's not like you to miss work. Call me soon, please.”

 

\---

 

“I--I have to go.” Michael grabbed his bag and his pen and scurried out of the room without another word. He dug through his pockets quickly, searching for his phone. 

Michael pushed through the streams of students, hammering out a quick text to Gavin. 

**Today**

**10:45AM**

**dude need 2 talk 2 u, meet me @ the cafe asap**

Michael didn’t even bother to wait for a reply before he was scurrying through the hallways. He weaved through the mass of people, spotting Gavin waiting for him near their usual table. Michael jogged over to him quickly and motioned for him to sit down. 

“What’s up, boi?” Gavin’s bushy eyebrows were furrowed together in concern. He slid his bag onto the table and sat in the seat closest to Michael. 

“Geoff hasn’t been answering my calls or my emails--Burnie said he hasn’t seen him in a few days either. Have you?” Gavin shook his head. 

“Nah, I haven’t. He didn’t come in yesterday. Or the day before, actually.” His mouth pulled down at the edges and he looked away from Michael. “Is he sick?” Michael sighed and leaned back. 

“‘Dunno, boy. I’m gonna see if he shows for our meeting tonight.” 

“And if he doesn’t?” Gavin raised an eyebrow, looking at Michael again. 

“I’ll go to the bastard’s apartment and tell him everyone’s worried about him.” 

 

\---

 

Locked. The doors to the school were locked, and Geoff wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Michael turned to the parking lot, shoving his hands deep into his pockets and trying to ignore how freezing it was. Michael saw smoke coming from behind a few cars, and felt his chest warm up. He was hoping it would be Geoff. He jogged over, peeking around to see who was smoking. 

It was a student. It wasn’t Geoff. But the kid saw Michael and waved. He was wearing nothing but a hoodie and a light beanie, with bright green hair poking out the front. He was leaning against a lamp post smoking, looking as cliche as ever. Fucking art students.

“Hey there.” The guy motioned for Michael to come over by him. Michael sighed and stepped over some piles of snow in between the cars. He leaned on the lamp next to him. 

“What’re you doing out this late?” Michael realized he must have been a solid few inches taller than this guy. 

“Nothing, really. Had to stay real late to study. How about yourself?” Michael huffed out a laugh in response, watching his breath cloud in front of his face. 

“I’m supposed to meet my bo-...tutor. He isn’t showing. Hasn’t come to work, hasn’t texted me back. Can’t seem to get a hold of him.” Michael smiled and looked down. His ears were starting to burn at the powerful kick of the Oregon winter. He’d forgotten his hat, of course. “Dude, how the hell are you even out here in that? Aren’t you cold?” The guy smirked and dropped the cigarette into the snow, letting it fizz. 

“Nah. I’m from Boston. I’m used to this bullshit.” He laughed and held out a hand. “I’m Jeremy.” Michael smiled back and shook it. 

“Michael. I’m from NJ, don’t meet a whole lot of east coasters out here.” He snickered, face starting to burn from the cold. 

“You’re right on that. Good luck finding your  _ tutor _ out there, man. You need a ride or anything?” Jeremy put a strange emphasis on the word tutor that made Michael’s face flush, despite already being red from the temperatures. 

“Actually, can you drive me a few blocks over? His apartment is right that way.” Jeremy grinned wide and nodded, throwing an arm up to gesture Michael to follow him. 

 

\---

 

Knock. Knock. 

“Hey, asshole, open up!” Michael tried to not raise his voice too loud. He glanced down at his phone. 11:58PM. He knocked again. Nothing. He huffed angrily and unlocked his phone, dialing out Geoff’s number and hitting call. 

Nothing. 

 

_ This is Geoff. You know how this goes, right?--beep _

 

“Geoff, you asshole. I’m outside your door and you aren’t picking up--call me, please.” Michael rested his head against the door with a thump and sighed deeply. 

 

“Where the fuck are you, man?” 

 

\---

 

Geoff froze when he heard the knock. Then, a muffled voice. It was Michael. Michael was looking for him, of course. 

_ “Hey, asshole, open up!”  _ Geoff sighed and looked down at his phone as it vibrated in his hand with Michael’s name. He knew he missed their meeting. He knew he fucked up. He’d done it--destroyed the only good thing he had going for him. 

He heard Michael leave the voicemail, hearing how broken his voice was towards the end of it. God, how badly he wanted to get the door. He wanted to hug Michael, to tell him he was okay. But he couldn’t. He grabbed the cheap plastic bottle and downed a quick sip, listening to the soft thud against his door. 

_ “Where are you?”  _ Geoff felt his chest tighten, but not in the good way that usually happened when Michael was involved. It was painful, and negative, and bad. This was one of those moments when he wished that it wasn’t the mouse that had died in his apartment a few days ago. 

The footsteps started fading away and Geoff let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. He missed Michael. He really, really missed Michael. He had to distance himself, he couldn’t let himself ruin Michael’s life any further. He didn’t deserve to be loved. At least, not in the way Michael had tried to offer. 

Geoff unlocked his phone and opened up Michael’s texts again. 

**Friday**

**2:30AM**

**so see u agn monday?**

**Saturday**

**10:46AM**

**ok lol no answer works 2**

**Saturday**

**11:51AM**

**geoff?**

**Saturday**

**11:55AM**

**old bitch answer ur phone!!!**

**Saturday**

**1:13PM**

**r u ok??**

**Saturday**

**7:45PM**

**mayb u broke ur phone...huh?**

Reading them over again broke Geoff’s heart. He scrolled through and stared at the mess of messages after Saturday. Michael was extremely worried about him. He texted Geoff nonstop--threatening to call the cops and report him missing at one point. 

Geoff closed his eyes and rubbed his face with his hand. He typed out a quick message. 

**Today**

**12:11AM**

**I am okay. I promise. Please do not report me missing.**

As he expected, his phone started vibrating with Michael’s contact. A picture he had taken of Michael staring at the paintings Geoff had done for him was displayed on the screen. A few seconds passed before the notification that he had missed a call. Immediately, Michael was blowing him up with texts. 

**12:12AM**

**u finally fukin live?? wtf**

**12:12AM**

**where the hell have u been. every1 is lookin 4 u!!**

**12:13AM**

**geoff answer me or may god unleash his wrath upon ur tattooed ass**

The last text made Geoff chuckle a little bit. He sighed and typed out another message and sent it before he could regret it. 

**12:13AM**

**I’ll explain later, Michael. I love you.**

 

\----

 

Michael stared at his phone as he approached the trolly station. That was the only time Geoff had said those words since the first time. Michael fought back the lump crawling in his throat. Something was very, very wrong. 

Geoff always called back if he missed a call, which was rare to begin with. Something was absolutely not right. 

Michael boarded the trolley and found a seat, plugging his headphones in and sighing. Every last part of this situation felt bad. The feeling was overwhelming, pressing itself over Michael’s chest like a cinder block. 

 

\---

 

_ This is Geoff. You know how this goes, right?--beep. _

 

“It's Christmas Break. I still haven't heard anything from you. I miss you, asshole. Call me, please.”

 

\---

 

_ This is Geoff. You know how this goes, right?--beep. _

 

“I haven't seen you in--a couple weeks, right? Where the hell are you? Please. Come back from wherever.”

 

\---

 

“Okay, so, what happened?” Ryan placed one of the boxes on the counter, moving to tape up another one. 

“Fuckin’ security cameras, dude.” Geoff huffed, wrapping another mug in bubble wrap. “I guess they saw me kiss Michael outside. He isn't my student but it's ‘strongly frowned upon to engage in anything with any students’ so, they fired me. Said it won't go on my record or anything as long as I resigned myself.” 

Ryan gave him a look of sympathy. He could tell this was hurting Geoff more than he wanted to admit. Geoff paused briefly when he picked up a yellow mug, a black smiley face design on it. Geoff frowned before wrapping the mug and placing it in the box with the others. 

“That ones his, isn't it.” It was more of a statement, less of a question. Geoff’s mouth pressed into a hard line as he nodded and Ryan turned away to tape up more boxes.

 

\---

 

“He just, he isn't anywhere, Gavin!” Michael paced the kitchen as Gavin started spooning sugar into his coffee.

“Do you think he went to visit family?” Gavin raised an eyebrow, taking a sip before making a disgusted face and spooning more sugar in. Michael paused, considering the option. 

“Not likely. They didn't take well to the whole ‘he fucks dudes too’ thing.” Gavin snorted and finally seemed pleased with the taste of his coffee. Michael looked up when he heard footsteps to see a very tired Meg. 

“Mornin’.” Gavin said as he gave her a quick peck on the cheek, but she was on a caffeine related mission and didn't reply. Her hair was tangled in a purple mess on her head and Gavin stared affectionately at her. She poured herself a cup of black coffee and immediately took a long sip, closing her eyes. 

“Morning. What are you guys talking about?” A smile crept on her face and she wrapped an arm around Gavin. 

“Michael’s having a...boyfriend crisis.” Michael rolled his eyes and huffed at Gavin’s words, glaring across the kitchen. 

“Not my boyfriend.” He growled. 

“Sure he isn't.” Gavin snorted in response. 

 

\---

 

_ This is Geoff. You know how this goes, right?--beep. _

 

“It's Christmas Eve. Gavin called you my boyfriend this morning. Look, I don't know what happened but I...Geoff, I fucking miss you.” 

 

\---

 

Michael hurdled up the stairs and reached Geoff’s apartment door in a matter of what felt like seconds. He was breathing heavy and banged on the door, begging for somebody to answer. 

He waited a few seconds before banging again, the silence strangling him. It grabbed his throat and cut off his air supply. He whacked his fist on the door again--sharp pain starting to blossom from the impact. 

“Geoff, I swear to fucking--” A door opened. However, it wasn't Geoff’s door. Michael looked over to see a tall man dressed in a thick coat and jeans, who was staring at him right back. 

“Michael? What are you doing here?” Michael froze, immediately confused. Geoff never mentioned his neighbor was the guy dating Ray.

“Ryan? You live here too? I'm--I’m looking for someone.” Ryan furrowed his eyebrows together. 

“Is he about 5’11”, covered in tattoos, almost looks like a cartoon character?” Michael smiled at that, a small amount of stress relieving itself. 

“Yeah, that's the one.” The relief didn't last long, Michael’s chest immediately feeling crushed at the look on Ryan’s face. He turned away and locked his door, giving the knob a twist before sliding his keys into his pocket. 

“I thought he told you.” Ryan’s voice was quiet, almost withdrawn. Michael felt his heart break at the words. 

“Told me? Told me what?” Michael looked at Geoff’s door before turning to fully face Ryan. The other man was quiet, smiling sadly at Michael. 

“Michael, Geoff got fired. He moved out a few days ago.”

Michael has read in books how certain words can break your heart, and there's words that can make it feel like your entire world is ending. He never thought that Geoff would be the root of those words, the cause of his world crashing down. Silence filled the hallway. Michael swore that time had stopped, then. 

 

_ I’ll explain later, Michael.  _

 

“He...what?”

 

_ I love you.  _

 

\---

 

Geoff stared off at the horizon, leaning against the hood of his SUV with a cigarette dangling from his lips. The sunset was beautiful--breathtaking, and all Geoff could think about was how badly he wanted to share this with Michael. To share warmth and cling to each other as if the world was ending. To lecture Michael on how the colors reflecting off the snow should inspire him to create, to do great things. That this would be a beautiful sketch for environmental practice, an empty parking lot on top of a hill that faced west. 

Oh, God, how he just wanted  _ Michael _ . 

He took a drag on his cigarette, feeling the bite of the cold hit him everywhere. His nose and cheeks were a bright pink--burning slightly when the wind blew. 

He stomped out the butt and got back into his car, throwing the heat on full blast and tearing his hat and jacket off. Geoff leaned over and checked his phone, seeing Michael’s name and contact on the screen. He tossed it back into the passenger seat and switched the gear into drive. 

\---

 

_ This is Geoff. You know how this goes, right?--beep. _

 

“The sunset was pretty tonight. I don’t know if you saw it. It’s gonna be Christmas in a few hours, I--I drew something for you. If you want it, you can come and get it but, uh. Ryan told me you moved out, huh? Call me, Geoff.” 

 

\---

 

Michael threw his fist at the wall, letting the pain sting through his hand. He had broke through the drywall and stared at the hole, unsure what to feel. He was breathing heavily, hot with anger--rage, even. He was angry at Geoff for this. Michael flexed his hand out and stared at the red marks on his knuckles before curling his fingers back into a fist and throwing another punch. 

“Fuck you, Geoff. Just fuck you.” He whispered, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. “You should have told me.” 

Michael collapsed onto his bed and stared at the ceiling before grabbing his phone. 

**12:00**

**December 25**

“Merry fucking Christmas, eh?” Michael sighed and dropped the device. He was angry at it, angry at time for letting Christmas be the day that his entire world left. 

 

\---

 

_ This is Geoff. You know how this goes, right?--beep. _

 

“Aye, asshole. It’s Christmas. Hope you’re happy. I drew a picture of us, got it fuckin’ framed and everything.” 

 

\---

 

Geoff listened to every voicemail, each one breaking his heart in a different way. He felt like he was being stabbed over and over again, yet he couldn’t bring himself to answer. He didn’t delete them, letting each bit of Michael’s thoughts sit in the memory storage on his phone. Geoff didn’t listen to the ones from Burnie or Ryan, simply locking his phone and staring out his windshield at the sky. 

Truthfully, he didn’t even know where the fuck he was--somewhere in Washington. That’s all that he really knew. He was just driving aimlessly and hoping for the best, hoping to end up somewhere that would take him. He was barely using his GPS, just following signs and roads. He’d been sleeping in the back of his car, curled up next to his clothes. 

His phone started buzzing, with Michael’s contact bright on the screen. Geoff stared at it and sighed, banging his head against the steering wheel and letting out a soft sob--gripping his phone tighter than necessary. 

 

\---

 

_ This is Geoff. You know how this goes, right?--beep. _

 

“Geoff, I-” 

 

_ Voice Mailbox full. _

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you. To everyone. 
> 
> The past year of writing this has gotten me into writing again, gotten me better at writing, and through that got me paid for writing. 
> 
> This story means so fucking much to me, it means the world to me, my entire heart and soul has gone into this over the past year. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read it for making it what it is--the support you guys gave is unbelievable.   
> I hope people will continue to read this as it is now finished, and maybe i'll add side works too. 
> 
> Thank you.


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